


A Hawkeling Tale

by sporksoma



Series: Hawkeling Tales [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: AU, Adult Language, Adult Situations, Angst, Arguments, Baby on board, Brooding, But Maker are they bad at it, Drinking, F/M, Fenris loves Hawke, Fighting, Fluff, Hawke loves Fenris, Kidfic, Mage Underground, Non-Canonical, Pining, Quarrels, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy, Violence, au (alternative universe), brooding elves, canonical violence, communication breakdowns, general stupidity, mentions of minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 19:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 253,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9457988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sporksoma/pseuds/sporksoma
Summary: Remember that night Fenris spent with Hawke?Hawke surely does, and there's a little memento in case she wants to forget.  However, being a mage and fearing the Chantry will take her expected bundle of joy, Hawke flees Kirkwall.  Some hilarity ensues, some pining ensues, some smut ensues, some Legacy ensues.  It's a kidfic with Hawke and Fenris and the Merry Band of Misfits.Complete as of 7/21/2017!





	1. A Gift, A Blessing, A Cause for Concern?

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to give me all the constructive criticism that you wish!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke accepts what cannot be changed and has the courage to confront Fenris about it. Fenris... needs some air.

Marian Hawke stared at herself in the mirror as she turned first one way, then another.  She ran her hand over the nearly flat plain of her belly and puffed out her cheeks, then turned to the side and checked her profile that way.  She didn’t _look_ any different.  She didn’t really feel any different, other than the unusual nausea and the strange breast tenderness that had started afflicting her.  That and the fact that she hadn’t had her courses in working on two months, and she was absolutely exhausted, needing at least one nap every single day and feeling worn out even from the least of jobs.  No, nothing had changed just because pretty much everything had changed, and if it weren’t for the screaming in her mind to deny what she knew was the truth, then she would probably be able to ignore the symptoms for _at least_ another month.  Maybe two; Marian was good at ignoring things she didn’t particular care to acknowledge.

She was an exceptional Healer, to the point of being able to do very little else in the way of magic.  Anders was a better, stronger mage than she was, probably due to his also being a Grey Warden as well as being Circle-trained in ways of discipline.  Marian Hawke had needed to hide her magic, most of the time.  What her father wasn’t able to teach her, she picked up from the random hedge mage that she came across, and since coming to Kirkwall four years ago, she had picked up more from Anders himself.  However, most of that training came from helping him in his clinic in Darktown, and most of her offensive magic came at the price of fumbling in the face of giant spiders, pretty much making it up as she went along with spit and a prayer.  So, it was no wonder that she was able to delve herself and discover that yes, what she had known about women and their cycles and the circle of life did, indeed, suddenly apply to her in a very personal manner that she had never considered for herself before. 

At least, not considered seriously.

She made her stomach as big as it would go, which wasn’t exceptionally big, anyway; she was almost a scrawny woman, fattened up some by the good food and more leisurely life she’d been living since she had purchased the old Amell estate from her mother and her mother had gotten them both the titles to go with it, but she had never been a woman given to excess fat, anyway.  Moving constantly, and having to do farm work and live as farm women, pretty much keeping her mage abilities hidden lest the entire family get arrested for being apostates or harboring them, meant that she had always worked her body more than she had taken in.  Her hip bones had always been prominent features, and her face was sharper and more angular.  Three years a noble and Marian Hawke still looked like the face of Lowtown poverty.  Most of what she ate was converted into tight muscles along her legs and arms, from the constant walking and running and hiking that she and her crew did, along with the hefting of her staff and treating it like a polearm.  Half the damage she did wound up being from hitting one bandit or thug or the other over the head with the blunt end of the thing.  And standing there, gazing at her naked form in the mirror, she could see nothing of where any sort of life was growing in her womb.  Flat stomach, or as flat as a woman’s stomach was going to be, and jutting hipbones, and wide hips, and smaller breasts than most women in Kirkwall, or perhaps that was simply because she did not use wires and straps and padding to make them look larger than they were.  Not the body of a woman with child, she thought to herself.

She shook her head, the loose hair tickling around her face, as she slid her underthings on, and then her stockings.  This wasn’t just a problem for her, not now.  It wasn’t something she could ignore, either.  She had known a few girls who found themselves in the family way, back in Lothering.  Lothering was the place they had settled in the longest, and she had actually made a few acquaintances there, other farmgirls with whom she had dared to steal blackberry wine with and get drunk in haylofts and share secrets.  A few of them, a bare handful, had found themselves with child and had managed to find a hedge witch here or there, or the elder, Miriam, who directed them to a Healer, to _take care_ of it, if the boy refused to make a proper wife out of the girl.  Next time they were more cautious, and, in drunken giggles, explained exactly how to get around that sort of situation outside of drinking certain herbal concoctions or letting the hedge witch have a go at your innards.  Hawke knew that if she were going to take the same route, it would need to be _soon_ , and that _soon_ echoed in her brain over and over until it was the only idea she could think of.  The underrobe went on here, and it would need to be _soon_.  The outer robe buckles here and snaps there, and it would need to be _soon_.  The first belt, and then the second belt, and then the tie, and it would need to be _soon_.  The belt pouch goes on thus, and then the staff straps onto the harness on the back, and it would need to be _soon, soon, soon_.

It was, she thought to herself, the _responsible_ thing to do.  _Taking care of it_.  If the last two months had been any indication of how the rest of her life was going to go, Marian Hawke was not a woman who needed to be in charge of an infant.  The newly “crowned” Champion of Kirkwall, a woman whose only living relatives were a nearly penniless, drunken wretch of an uncle and a brother who had given his life over to the Templars.  No female relatives to help with the babe.  No husband or man in her life, to help provide whatever support she couldn’t at the moment.  An apostate living openly, and the declared Champion of an entire city, all of Thedas knew that Marian Hawke was a mage, and any child she bore would be a target, with the Chantry frothing at the bit to come and snatch it away as soon as it was born, leaving Hawke with nothing but the birthing sadness and empty arms where her child should be.

And Maker’s mercy, she thought, shoving her left foot into her boot.  Fenris didn’t even know.  How… how could she _tell_ him?  She could barely speak to him now, two months later.  It was just too… too awkward.  Too bloody awkward, where before her friendship with Fenris had been as natural and comfortable as her relationship with Bethany had been.  Obviously, it had meant more to her than it had him, although she suspected that Fenris’s decision to walk out after that night wasn’t one he had made lightly.  It was too _embarrassing_ to talk about, to even bring up, and he hadn’t seemed to want to talk about it, either.  If it were “buyer’s remorse,” as it were, then he certainly wasn’t acting like a man who wasn’t interested; any time they were out together, Fenris watched her, and even Hawke had seen the “sad puppy eyes” that he gave her when he thought she wasn’t looking, like he was a man starved for sunshine and she the sun.  Hawke stomped down roughly into her boot to settle her foot in there better and absolutely not because she was irritated and did not wish to deal with the dual ideas of _baby_ and _Fenris_ together, even if reality was hitting her atop the head with the concept.

Her Delving was accurate; she knew that.  But she felt the need to get a second opinion, in part because it meant she could put off discussing the topic with Fenris and in part because she was afraid she was finding something that just wasn’t there, because of fear or desire, or a mixture of both.  That meant Anders, since he was just about the only mage she could trust to give her a reliable answer.  Void take him, he was just about the only mage she could _find_ who could give her a reliable answer.  But then he would _know_ , and she would have to admit that she had slept with Fenris.  It was something none of their mutual friends knew, something that she had managed to keep quiet on his behalf; Hawke may be able to forgive him leaving, running out after part of a night, leaving right after sex (and, honestly, it was her first official time, because fooling around in those same haylofts with farm boys who barely managed to get their hands up her dresses _didn’t_ count, and even those few trysts had died off once her father had passed and it was up to Marian to be the proverbial man of the house) but she knew that none of their other friends would understand.  Isabela would tease him or call him a fool or, worse, to Marian’s mind, would think that if he put out once, he’d do so again and continue to put the moves on him.  Varric would probably threaten him, and Aveline would tell him to get his shit together.  Merrill would increase her insipid comments, irritating both of them until neither of them could handle it anymore, and Carver would find out and then Fenris and Carver would wind up in a fight and she knew Carver would lose and she’d have to be cross at Fenris for Carver’s sake, even if she secretly thought Carver had no business in _her_ business. 

And Anders would do exactly what she knew he was going to do now: look at her with those large, brown eyes, always so full of hurt, always expecting her to turn on him.  Maker’s mercy, if only she could love Anders the way he loved her, but he felt more a brother to her than anything, a queer mixture of lost Bethany and lost Father and a nearly-lost Carver that felt more like _home_ to her than this estate did.  She had grown up with the idea of magic meaning family, and Anders was the kind of comfortable she could sleep next to, but never sleep _with_ , and it broke his heart to know it, and it broke her heart to break his heart.  But she was not for him, nor he for her, and he would never admit it. 

Today, she decided to take even more time and braid her hair into one long, wrist-thick plait that would fall down her back past her shoulders.  Anything and everything to stall, to bide her time until she had to choose to first go to Anders, or first go to Fenris, and confess what she knew.  Anders would be sad, and hurt, and Fenris would be angry.  Fenris was _always_ angry.  Was it worth it to go to Anders first and simply tell Fenris she had to have that second opinion?  Or was it worth it to drag Fenris along to Anders so he could find out the answer from someone other than Marian?  Hawke sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees and her face in her hands and sighed deeply, nearly a sob.  The Champion of Kirkwall for all of a fortnight and she could not figure out how to tackle her own personal life without distractions and putting off important decisions and choices.  Maker, but she was going to make a huge mess of Kirkwall, if they depended on her to defend it.

* * *

Hawke shuffled her feet awkwardly for a few minutes, adjusting and re-adjusting her robes around her, smoothing them over her hips and patting ineffectually at hair that was as neat as it was going to be, with the spring winds, all to avoid knocking on the badly-hung door in front of her.  She was standing in front of Fenris’s mansion and it had only taken her an hour to get there, where it usually took about five minutes at a brisk walk.  Hawke called herself ten kinds of coward, and none of it spurred her on to any further action.  She would raise her hand to knock and then bite her bottom lip and lower said hand, only to adjust her clothing further, or position her staff better on its holster on her back, or to try to talk herself out of knocking altogether, because Fenris surely wasn’t home: he was out shopping, or on a mercenary job, or visiting one of the others, or still sleeping and she shouldn’t disturb him.

Her hand was poised to knock once more, the fist she was making so tight that the knuckles were turning white, when the door opened of its own accord and Fenris stood there, haloed by dust motes and shadow.  He was dressed only in a black tunic and leggings, his hair tousled, but no more or less than usual, and that lazy, almost secretive smile he only ever put on for her playing on his lips.

“Hawke,” he said, pleasantly enough.  “You’ve been standing out here for some time.  I was wondering if you would like to come in?”

Hawke grinned widely, showing teeth and tripping over her tongue.  “Ah, I, thanks, Fenris, that’s nice.  Yes, come inside.  Good idea, coming inside.  I’ll just… come inside.  Right.  Inside.”  Fenris quirked a brow at her, that smile turning more amused, and Hawke rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly before taking a deep breath to steel herself and stepping through the doorway.  Fenris closed it behind her and then the two of them stood there, awkward, neither quite looking at the other.

“It’s a nice day,” she began, at the same time Fenris started “How are you doing?”  They both laughed, somewhat self-consciously on Hawke’s part.

“Would you care to come upstairs?  I can get us something to drink, if you’d like.  Although, I suspect it’s a bit early for you to be drinking,” Fenris offered. 

“No, no.  No alcohol for me, thanks,” Hawke said, all in a rush.  She wouldn’t live long enough to have this baby, because she would just _die_ of mortification here and now.  Thank you, Maker, for taking this decision out of her hands. 

“That’s fine.  Still, would you care to come upstairs and sit down?  Or was there a reason you came by?”  He eyed the staff on her back pointedly.  One way Hawke had been able to escape obvious notice around Kirkwall the last four years was by not flaunting what she was.  It was only now that she was publicly the Champion did she feel it safe to carry what everyone considered to be a proper mage’s staff; her others had all resembled more the polearms they were mimicking: ugly, brutish things, with sharp blades.  Her new staff was almost pretty, with purple and blue crystals on it that amplified her mana and boosted her magic at once, with runes set into the handle.  She could still use it as a polearm, but it was a _pretty_ polearm now, and a bit more delicate than the one that she had carried so long that looked like a scythe.  

“Sitting down.  Yes, that would be good,” she babbled, and Fenris gave her another odd look before gesturing her up the flights of stairs to the one room that he actually used.  Once seated, she looked at everything _but_ him, and neither of them seemed inclined to breech the silence that had fallen.  She knew that she wasn’t acting like she normally did around him, but she was trying valiantly to force her brain into creating words that would make sense and would sound logical and wouldn’t drive him away, running for the hills immediately, or going the ghost on her.  Not that it was her fault; it was _far_ from just her fault, in fact.  She wasn’t the one who barged into _his_ home and looked at her with those smoldering green eyes and that “come-hither” voice and said, “I have been thinking of you.  In fact, I have been able to think of little else.”  Oh, she _had_ been thinking of him, and little else besides him in any sort of serious fashion, but he was the instigator there, not her!

“Hawke, are you well?  You seem rather off today, and you look pale.  Do you need to see Anders?” 

“That’s kind of why I came by, actually,” she managed to squeak out.  Maker’s breath, she had stood up to the Arishok in front of every living noble in Kirkwall and beat the man in single combat for the life and honor of a pirate who betrayed everyone and caused the problems in the first place.  She _could_ talk to the man who was the father of the child she was carrying and _inform_ him of those details.  She was Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, not some sniveling weakling! 

Hawke cleared her throat and straightened her spine slightly, and then looked Fenris in the eye.  _Clear voice, plain expression, no accusations._   “Fenris,” she began, slowly.  “I know you do not want to speak of what happened between us two months ago.” 

“There is nothing to say,” Fenris replied, dourly.  It was his turn to look anywhere but at her, and he had his head tilted slightly so that his bangs hid most of his expression.  His posture was wary, and he looked ready to dart at the slightly provocation; his hands were curled into fists. 

“Yes, there is, actually.  I don’t know how to put this delicately, so… Just listen.  You were the first man I’d ever had sex with, and sometimes you don’t always know how to prepare for those things when you’re not expecting them, and sometimes a woman winds up pregnant.”

Fenris started and his head jolted up, his mossy-green eyes wide.  “What?”  His voice was flat, and nearly angry, and Hawke couldn’t suppress a wince at the tone.  Thick, black eyebrows drew down in what had to be anger, and he stood up.  There was no mistaking the hand-clenching, or the angry posture.  “Hawke, what did you just say?”

She sighed.  About as good as she could have expected; wonderful.  “I said that I’m pregnant, Fenris.  And as I’ve only had sex with one man in my life, and that one man was you, well… there’s a limit to how many candidates for father the babe has.”

“I… need some air,” he said, a choked gasp, and he stumbled from the room, leaving her there by herself.  Hawke grimaced and slouched back on the bench she had taken a seat on.  Well, it _could_ have gone worse, and at least it was over with.  Gently, she rubbed the sides of her temple with the tips of her fingers, wondering if it was safe to do just a tish bit of Healing to rid herself of the Maker’s own headache that was developing behind her eyes. 

A half-hour had passed when Hawke decided she had waited for Fenris enough.  Just as she was standing up to go, he stumbled back inside, looking for all the world like a man who had just been told he had a month to live. 

“Hawke,” he said, sitting down again and gesturing for her to stay seated.  “Please treat me as if I am a stupid man right now.  I’m going to ask you some questions, and please answer them plainly and honestly as you can.  Yes?”

“Sure, Fenris,” Hawke replied, fake, cheerful grin on her face.

“You are pregnant?”

“Yep.”

“And I… am the father?”

“You’re the leading candidate.”

A flash of hot, angry jealousy went across his face.  “How many other candidates are there, then?”

“There was that guy who turned into a swan…”

“Hawke….”

“And then he turned into a golden shower!”

“Hawke.”

She managed a nervous laugh and gave him a cheeky grin.  “How many other ‘candidates’ do you think there are, Fenris?”

“You have not been with… with anyone else, since…?”

“No.  Sorry to disappoint.” 

He touched a red ribbon on his right wrist, seemingly as a nervous gesture, and some of the tension seemed to ease out of him.  “Very well.  I… Just so you know, I have not, either.”  Hawke made a noncommittal sound.  “So… where do we go from here?” Fenris asked.

“I’m thinking I probably need to go see Anders.  He’s… probably the only mage I can trust, and he’s delivered plenty of babies and is a good Healer to boot.  I wouldn’t…”  She stopped and took a shaky breath, running her fingers through her hair and getting them caught up in the braid she had so carefully woven earlier.  “I wouldn’t know who else to trust.  I… you know about how the Chantry treats mages who have children?”

“I had not heard,” Fenris replied, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I know how you feel about mages, so we’re not going to get into that argument right now.  But if the Chantry finds out that a mage woman has had a baby, the baby gets taken away to a Chantry and the woman never sees the child again.  It’s even worse in the Circles; the moment the child is born, the cord is snipped and the woman never even gets to see or hold the baby.  The child is then raised by the Chantry, whether or not the child has the ability to use magic.”

“And you believe this makes the Chantry a threat to the babe?”

“Believe?  I know!” Hawke nearly shouted.  “If… If I have this child, Fenris, even if you don’t want anything to do with it, I’ll have to deal with the Chantry possibly hounding me.  I can’t even say that growing up in a Circle would be so bad for it, because I don’t know if I’d be good at teaching magic or not, but never the _Kirkwall_ circle.  Without even getting into a conversation on whether mages are oppressed or not, this circle is the worst one in Thedas, with abuses rampant that I _know_ you’ve seen.  Imagine… imagine that the child is a girl, and some _Templar_ like Ser Alrik got ahold of her.”  Hawke could not even try to keep the fear out of her voice at that, and she felt sudden, hot tears prickle in her eyes.  She blinked fiercely, trying to push them away. 

“I had never considered it from the point of view of a parent of a mage,” Fenris said, slowly.  “But I see your point, on the circle here, at least.  Kirkwall is a festering hive in many ways, and I have seen firsthand the abuses the Templars here enact on the mages.  I may not care for mages, or magic, in general, but to know that children can undergo some of those same abuses as the adults…”  He gave her a suddenly stern look.  “You will not tell the abomination I said that, Hawke.”

She managed a shaky laugh.  “My lips are sealed, Fenris.”  She glanced down at her fingers and plucked at her robes for a minute, trying to figure out how to word the next part.  Fenris was patient, giving her the time she needed.  “I… also considered you.  Magic runs strongly in my bloodline, and runs strongly in elven bloodlines.  A magically-prone, half-blood child…”  She rolled her shoulders slightly, not daring to lift her eyes to meet his.  “I… I have the resources to take care of a child on my own, I suppose, but… I felt it was your right to know, and to decide if you— “

“If I _what_ , Hawke?”

She swallowed hard and licked her lips, still not daring to look.  “It’s up to you to decide if you want to be part of our lives.  Their life.  Maker, I don’t know how to do this,” she finished in a whisper. 

“I would ask that you give me some time to think, Marian,” Fenris said, softly, and kindly for him.  “This is a shock to me.  You have had a few days, at least, to grow used to the idea, if I am correct.”  Hawke nodded, mutely.  “Then I ask that you give me a few days, as well.  I will not abandon you, or our child, but… I simply need a little time to think on it, before we discuss anything further.

“I need to go to Anders, and have him check me over and make sure that everything is okay,” Hawke told him, her voice quiet.  “It’s a normal part of being pregnant.  I will need regular checkups with him.  If you want to come along, I was going to go see him today.  I need it confirmed by someone who isn’t me.”

“You would have me along, then?”  She nodded again, and Fenris stood.  “Then I will accompany you.  We will both find out, at the same time.”  He managed a tremulous smile, and got one from her in return. 


	2. Tactile Examinations and Exciting Dinner Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets a second opinion and Fenris gets a second bottle.

The walk to Darktown was somewhat awkward, and made moreso by the fact that they had to run into Varric and Merrill as they were going through Lowtown.  Hawke had truly wanted this to be just her and Fenris, but even she had to admit that it was safer traveling in numbers through Darktown, even for them.  It was easy enough to come up with a suitable lie for why they had to visit (“Just checking up on Anders!  Thought we’d bring him a little bit of gold to use on supplies and some food!” said in a chipper voice with a pasted-on smile) and hard to shake the two of them inviting themselves along, so, with barely a shared glance between them, they went on their way to Darktown.

It was fortunate for them that they had the rogue and blood mage along; trips through Darktown being what they generally were, they wound up having to fight off three small gangs of particularly stupid thugs and Fenris was acting quite over-protective of Hawke, refusing to let her get into the frays at all and purposely keeping her back enough that Merrill and Varric both were giving him odd looks.  Fenris was usually protective of Hawke, it was true, and in battles he usually took up positions where he could best defend her; training and conditioning to be a bodyguard to a mage did not fall away easily, especially not when there was a mage that he truly _wanted_ to keep safe.  However, this was excessive, even for him, and when one of the stupid thugs got in and nicked her across the bicep with his dagger, Fenris took the man’s head off with a ferocity they had only recently seen him use against slavers.  His obvious anxiety after the fight, including a very-concerned sounding “Are you hurt?  The cut is not deep, is it?  Did you Heal yourself?” did nothing to make their nonchalance actually appear to be as innocent as they meant it. Varric certainly knew something was up, and even Merrill could tell, obviously, from her many giggles and elbowing of Varric’s ribs and gestures towards the two.  For her part, Hawke put on a long-suffering air and wondered if Fenris was going to treat her like spun sugar in a rainstorm for the next seven months plus.  The man may have said he needed a few days to think, but his actions in the few short hours after learning he was to be a father had already proven exactly how he planned on acting in a more permanent manner.

It was a rare sort of quiet in the clinic, once they finally arrived there, and Hawke found Anders bent over a table and writing furiously.  Obviously writing up another copy of his manifesto; the man spent more money on led and paper, or ink and quill and paper, than he did on actual food for himself.  Probably Justice’s influence.  Justice seemed to forget that mortal bodies needed sleep and rest.  Good thing Hawke was there to remind her friend that he was mortal, even if his little passenger wasn’t exactly, and that the only way to keep him from going “Grr, Argh!” and losing whatever little fashion sense he had remaining was to make sure that he ate and slept.

For his part, Anders seemed rather happy with the interruption, even if it did include Fenris, whom he hated with the fiery hate of a million brightly burning suns, and Merrill, whom he merely loathed because of her dealings with demons and blood magic.  Varric, Anders was on good enough terms with to joke around and play occasional card games; the two were friends, or as much of a friend as Anders allowed himself nowadays. 

There was no way to get around things without making Varric any more suspicious than he already was, so Hawke just came right out and told Anders that she and Fenris needed to speak with him, and in private, if they could manage.  The only semi-private room in the entire clinic happened to be Anders’s bedroom, and so he took the two of them in there, torn between giving Hawke looks of friendly concern (and sometimes longing) and Fenris looks of “Go thee to the Void and Do Not Return to Sender.”

“If this is about some sort of weird threesome,” Anders quipped, smiling slightly, “I’m afraid I’m not interested, Hawke.”  She snorted slightly at that; it was good that he showed any sense of humor.  He showed less and less lately, and any time he initiated jokes was good.  Three years ago, he laughed more, and joked more, and she didn’t want to lose that good man.

“Sorry to break your heart, Anders.  This is actually a sort of medical advice situation?”

“Oh?  Sit down,” he said, gesturing to his shaky cot.  “What sort of medical advice do you need?” 

“I need you to check and see if I’m pregnant.”

“Pregnant!  But!”  He chanced a glance at Fenris, who was leaning against the flimsy wooden partition, arms folded across his chest.  “I’m taking it he’s the father?”

“Yeah,” Hawke replied, grinning with her back teeth gritted and trying to keep her hands from pulling at her hair in nervousness.  “It… I just need you to check, okay?”

“I’m afraid neither of you are going to like this,” Anders warned.  “I can check you with magic and determine that the pregnancy exists, but I’m afraid that checking up on you during the pregnancy requires some more tactile examination.”

“Exactly what kind of examination, mage?” Fenris nearly growled, and Anders scowled at him as fiercely as Fenris ever had scowled before.

“I’ll need to feel up inside her womb,” Anders said.  “It’s an actual professional examination, so unless you can control yourself, Fenris, you’ll have to leave the room while I’m doing it.  She’ll need to be mostly unclothed and I’ll need to… feel… her more delicate parts, if I may put it that way.”

“And why would you need to do such a thing to Hawke?  Obviously if you can tell with your magic that she’s pregnant, you can tell anything else.”

Anders huffed an irritated breath.  “Because there are only things you can know about a woman’s pregnancy by actually feeling along her cervix, especially once she gets further along and is about to deliver.  I’ll also need her to pass water into a cup and I’m going to have to taste it.”  Hawke made a face; Fenris made a face that was more of a glare.  “Yes, it’s not my favorite thing, either, but it helps to know if she’s developing any sort of bad conditions that pregnant women get.”  He risked a glance at Hawke that was too doubtful for her.  “ _If_ she’s pregnant, that is.”

“Is there any doubt?  I’m late two months’ worth of courses, I’m nauseated most mornings and if I go too long without eating, the smell of bacon is no longer satisfying, I’m passing water like crazy, my breasts have grown and are tender to the touch…”

“Those are all very telling symptoms, especially if your courses are off.  Have you usually been regular?”  This was Anders the Healer, all professional, and it was always sort of amusing and awe-inspiring to see him.

“Usually regular.  Severe injuries can throw me off some, but pretty much the same time each moon cycle.  Since I was twelve years old.”

“How many partners have you had?”

“Isn’t that a bit personal, mage?” Fenris growled, and Anders threw up his hands.

“Listen, I’m not asking these questions out of some perverse desire to know, Fenris.  I ask these same questions from every pregnant woman who comes into my clinic, or every woman who comes in with female problems.  They’re standard questions.  And if you interrupt me again, you’ll need to leave, because I can’t have you distracting me.  I need to remember the answers so that I can write them down and I can consult with them for the next appointment, assuming that Hawke is pregnant and decides to keep it.”

“I’m keeping it if I’m pregnant,” Hawke hastened to say.  “And Fenris, let him do his job, okay?”  She addressed Anders again.  “Fenris was my first, ah, all-the-way partner?”  Anders simply nodded and started examining Hawke, thumbing her eyes and taking her pulse.

The questioning went on for quite some time, Fenris staying quiet and merely growling when he felt the questions were too personal.  When it came time for Hawke to disrobe and Anders to start feeling her breasts, Fenris had to be kicked out of the little partitioned room. 

“Maker, I don’t know how you put up with him and the jealousy,” Anders said.  He was being absolutely professional, and if he was enjoying manhandling Hawke’s naked breasts, he certainly wasn’t showing any signs of it.

“We’re not… really together,” she admitted.

“What?  He certainly acts like you are.”

“It’s complicated,” she replied, apologetically, and Anders snort-laughed.

“Everything is complicated with you, Hawke.  But if you decided to leave him behind, good for you.”

“It was rather the other way around.”  Anders stared at her for a moment, confused. 

“He left _you_?  Well, that settles it then, he’s mad as a hatter.” He patted the cot.  “Need you to lie back and spread your legs with your knees up, best you can.  I’ll be better prepared for your next visit, when we need to do this.  I’m going to warn you that it might be uncomfortable.  I’m going to have to insert my fingers inside of you and feel around your cervix, and press down very slightly on your belly.”

“You’re going to buy me dinner afterwards, right?” Hawke joked, trying to not sound as nervous as she felt.

“I thought you were going to buy _me_ dinner?  Poor Healer living in Darktown, after all.” 

“If I can get through this without feeling ten kinds of used and thrown away, I’ll buy you all the dinners you want, Anders.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” he quipped, slowly sliding his fingers inside of her.  His right palm was on her lower belly, right over where her womb was, and, as he said, he gently pressed down around there in several different places, seeming to look into space.  She could feel his magic delve inside her at the same time; for being in such an intimate position, it was oddly professional, and she was glad for that.  She might have killed him otherwise.

After a moment or two, he pulled his fingers back out and used a cloth to wipe them off.  “Everything feels fine, Hawke.  You’re about two months along, like you thought.  You were serious when you said there had only been one lover, right?” 

“Yes, Anders.  Unfortunately, as much as Varric likes to exaggerate, I have only gone ‘all the way’ with one man, and that one man is standing outside this door wondering if it’s okay to kill you now.”

Anders knocked on the door as Hawke slid her smalls back up over her thighs and worked at pulling the skirts of her robes down into something more respectful.  “Broody, you can come in now, if you’re going to behave yourself.  The worst part of the exam is over with.”  Scant seconds went by before Fenris was back in there, carefully eyeing the space between Anders and Hawke, going over Hawke at least a dozen times to make sure she was well and not in the throes of passion, making sure that Anders didn’t enjoy himself _too_ much.

“So tell me, mage, is she pregnant or is she not?”

“About two months along.  Congratulations, Fenris; in about seven months there’s going to be a little Broody Hawkeling for everyone to coo over.  If we’re lucky, it’ll be a girl and she’ll get Hawke’s looks and nothing at all from you.”

“Anders,” Hawke warned, teasingly.  “Although a girl with my looks would benefit the world, right?”  She smiled tentatively at Fenris, who tilted his head down to hide his eyes.  Ah well.  Hawke suppressed the sigh that wanted to escape her lips.  Maybe he was just being shy around Anders; the two of them hated each other famously, after all, and it wouldn’t be like Fenris to show any sort of happiness around the mage lest Anders use it against him somehow. 

“I’ll be good, Hawke, but he’s got to promise to stop being so threatening at your future appointments or he seriously will be banned from them.”

“Fenris?”

The elf shuffled his feet and flexed his hands into fists several times before gritting out, “I will watch my behavior in the future.” 

“It’s better than nothing,” Anders said, with a shrug.  “Now… I believe you said something about getting some dinner?”

“Wait, Anders… I’m not ready to let the others know about this, alright?  And I need to know how this will affect my fighting for the next few months.  Fenris needs to know, too.”

“Well, you’re going to have to take a lot of care to not fight as much as possible,” Anders warned.  “While getting plenty of exercise, like walking and some light sparring practice, is good for you, too much physical activity, and the wrong kind, and especially injuries to the back and the stomach, can make you lose the babe sure as anything.  I would urge you to stop fighting altogether, if you can.  If you can’t, because I know you as well as I do, then stay back as much as possible and try to bring extra support along with you.  Fenris is a good fighter, but he can’t hang back and defend you while being out taking the brunt of the hits at the same time.”

“You’ll just have to avoid fighting, Hawke,” Fenris said, his tone very no-nonsense.

“I can’t avoid it forever, Fenris.  But we’ll work something out.  Maybe I can get some new armor, something that I can wear as I get bigger.”

“Speaking of, you’ll also want to avoid drawing any attention to your stomach as you get further along,” Anders said, his voice serious and his eyes sad now.  “You know as well as I do what happens to the children of mages once they’re born.  You’re the Champion now, and maybe will even be able to hold that lauded position well over the next year, but if Meredith caught wind that you’re going to give birth, or that you just did?”  He shook his head, and her heart went out to him then, and herself.

“Meredith will not have the child,” Fenris warned, voice low and threatening.

“I’d like to see you try to stop an entire battalion of Templars raiding the Hawke estate, void-bent on abducting the baby Hawke,” Anders sneered. 

“I’ll kill them myself, first,” Fenris warned, and Hawke held up her hands for peace.

“Gentlemen, we’re not going to get anywhere with fighting.  I have a feeling a lot of this is going to involve playing it by ear, and maybe a long trip to Antiva with my favorite elf and my favorite apostate when the time comes.”

“That may not be a bad idea now, actually,” Anders said, and that caused Hawke to chuckle slightly.

“So eager to get out of Kirkwall?” she asked, eyes twinkling.  “I can’t say as I blame you.  Pretty much anywhere has to smell better than this place, right?”

“Well, not just that,” Anders said.  “But if we got you out of the Free Marches, or at least out of Kirkwall, where you’re well known, during the duration of your pregnancy, then maybe we wouldn’t have to be concerned about Meredith finding out.  And if you return in a year with a newborn, you can always say you adopted the babe.  You’re an unmarried woman right now, and you’re wealthy and so far, you have no heir; adopting an heir from another country might seem somewhat strange, but since you’re rich, you’ll just seem eccentric instead of crazy.”

Fenris spoke up, then.  “It is a good idea, Hawke.  We avoid the problems with fighting and the Templars at the same time.  I will go anywhere you wish to go, and I am sure that Varric and Isabela will be happy to go, too.”

“I’d hate the idea of leaving the clinic that long,” Anders said, “but I could go back and forth, or I could find you a good Healer there.  If nothing else, we could spread rumors about you going somewhere like Nevarra or Antiva or even Rivain and you could be not far outside the city, or just up the way towards one of the other Marcher cities, or across the border into Orlais.  Someplace not too far."

Hawke chewed on her bottom lip.  It was a lot to contemplate, but the idea seemed a solid one, and a way for her to escape the sharp notice of the Chantry as well.  Involving Varric would mean that they would be able to forge adoption papers, too, which would lend strength to their claims.

“How about we talk about some of this over dinner?” she asked, smiling a relieved smile, a genuine smile for the first time that day.  “I’m afraid we’re going to have to bring Varric in on this sooner, rather than later…

* * *

 

“I told you, Elf,” Varric said, a laugh in his voice.  “Women would have broody babies in your honor if you brooded any more than you do already.”  Fenris scowled and drank more wine.  Hawke had kept count; he had finished at least a bottle and a half of it during dinner and his eyes were starting to get just the faintest bit glassy.

“Lethallan, I am so happy for you!  Among the Dalish, babies are always a reason for celebration,” Merrill chirped, reaching across the table to brush her hand against Hawke’s arm.  Her smile was infectious, and there was no way that they would have been able to exclude her from the dinner and the announcement.  As it was, they were only able to make it halfway through before Anders let slip the “big news.”  Fenris had been even broodier and moodier than normal, and Hawke was sure the only reason he decided to eat at the restaurant with the four of them was the promise of free alcohol (and food, although food was in no way a replacement for alcohol in Fenris’s mind, Hawke was sure.) 

The food was good, and hot, and fresh.  It wasn’t often that she chose to eat at any of the restaurants around Kirkwall, and especially not those around Hightown, but her newly-gained rank of “Champion” had a few privileges, and Hawke was damned if she wasn’t going to take advantage of feeding her friends the good stuff on someone else’s silver for a change.  At home, she knew Orana would make her whatever she wished, or, if she had to, she was a fine enough cook to see to herself and the others, but there was something special about eating some place that didn’t have the scent of piss and stale vomit (The Hanged Man) and didn’t involve her own cutlery and china (her own home) or didn’t smell like the ass-end of a tannery (Merrill’s place.) Out of all of them, only Varric seemed to know the proper manners for eating at the place: Hawke didn’t care, Anders was too afraid of Templars walking in any moment, Merrill was oblivious, and Fenris was too intent on imbibing as much alcohol as elvenly possible.  So, steaks, and crisp salad greens, and freshly roasted vegetables, and a sort of sweet, lemony custard for dessert, and Hawke managed to get some sort of bubbly water instead of wine, like the others.  There were worse ways to celebrate one’s pregnancy, she was certain. 

“I know it’s going to take all of us working together to keep… certain parties… out of the know on this,” she said, her voice pitched low, for their table alone.  Fenris kept his eyes anywhere but near her when she was looking at him, and kept his eyes on her alone when she looked away.  Hawke had suppressed many sighs over the course of their dinner, dealing with that nonsense.  “But, I know I can trust all of you.”

“You know you can always trust me, Hawke,” Anders said, and the sincerity was nearly overwhelming.  It made a small pit of guilt begin to ache, somewhere above her stomach.  Even knowing she was carrying another man’s child, Anders wanted her.  Even knowing she did not want him, he wanted her, and he would do anything in his power to keep her safe and happy, her and the babe as well.  It was a… tempting… thought, actually.  Not that being with Anders would be any better than being an unmarried mother in Kirkwall, but…  Slowly, Hawke closed her eyes, just for a moment.  When did her life get so tangled?  She snorted inside her head; that one was easy.  It got so tangled when she had to reach above her station and get them enough gold for her to hide behind, when she had to go out of her way to help her mother get into someplace better than Lowtown.  Left to their own devices, she and Carver would probably have stuck it out there; they were both deadly enough, alone or together, that few in Lowtown gave them any sort of pause.  But Mother had deserved better, and so they had worked for her sake.  And now… her life was a tangle, a mess. 

“We’re here for you, lethallan,” Merrill added.  Her smile was bright and happy, as usual, and yet again Hawke found her being a blood mage to be incongruous with her actual demeanor.  To her, blood mages were creepy, evil boogey-men who preyed on small children.  At her worst, Merrill was a menace to a field of flowers wanting to keep their petals. 

“We only have to decide whether to send you off somewhere else or keep you close,” Varric said.  “Both plans have merit, but a newly minted Champion will be in demand.  Balls, ceremonies, and your job request stack will triple, at least.”  He tapped a blunt finger thoughtfully against his chin.  “Of course, we can take up some of the slack on that.  Everyone knows who your crew is; you’ve made no secret that you don’t work alone.  So, if any of us are there taking a job, it gives you legitimacy.  Just because nobody actually sees the Champion there, doesn’t mean she wasn’t.”  He jerked his thumb in Fenris’s direction.  “Hell, enough people already connect the two of you together that if someone sees Fenris around town, they’ll assume you’re nearby.” 

Fenris started at that, his green eyes widening.  The alcohol and dimness of the restaurant had made his pupils dilate more than usual, and the concerned look did not appear good on him.  “Do you think Danarius has connected us?”

Varric shrugged.  “If I’ve got spies in Tevinter, and I do, then he’s got to have spies here.”  Fenris cursed and swallowed what remained in his glass quickly, then lifted it and shook it slightly to indicate to their server that he wanted another.  Hawke frowned just slightly at that; was he more concerned over his own life, or hers and the new one?  Or did he just not like the idea of people keeping tabs on him, and comparing his presence to that of their new Champion’s?  It was no secret at all that she took him on most missions; with Carver in the Templars and Aveline the Captain of the Guard, her crew needed _someone_ with muscle, and Fenris had always seemed content enough to go on whatever job Hawke requested him for.  It kept him in regular coin, it gave him a social outlet, and it strengthened the bonds of companionship he had with the others so that he could be relatively assured that if Danarius showed again, he would have someone fighting at his back. 

“So, who’s going to tell Isabela that she’s going to be an auntie?” Varric continued.  “And Auntie Aveline!  And Uncle Sebastian!  Maker’s breath, I get to be ‘Uncle Varric!’  Hawke, you have to name him after me!”

“Who said it’s a ‘he’?” Hawke replied, grinning.  “I bet she’s going to be a beautiful little girl.”

“Well, ‘Varrica’ is a pretty enough name, right?”  He elbowed her slightly.  “And who’s to say you’re only going to stop at one.”

“Ah, I rather think that I have a say in that,” Hawke replied, weakly. 

“What do you say, Broody?  Hawke’s got twins in her family,” Varric said, sing-song.

“I suggest you keep your mouth shut, dwarf,” Fenris replied.  He held up the glass again and shook it angrily, glaring around for the server, who bustled up with a wine bottle.  “Leave the bottle,” he growled, snatching it from the woman.  Hawke didn’t even try to suppress the sigh this time.  Drunk and angry Fenris was not as much fun as drunk and flirty Fenris, and it was (sort of) her fault.  Hawke gently placed a hand on Varric’s arm and shook her head while Fenris was busy pouring the wine from the bottle.  Varric’s look was obviously confused, and Hawke mouthed “we’ll talk later” to him.  This caused Varric, in turn, to shrug.  Fenris was, meanwhile, oblivious to the silent communication that was going on right across from him.  Hawke wondered if it wasn’t due, in large part, to him trying to ensure he didn’t spill any of the wine.  It was a fool’s errand to try to temper him tonight.

“Does Carver know?” Merrill asked, her tone never straying from “happy” and “excited.”  Can I be there when you tell him?  I miss him, sometimes, even if he is a Templar now.”

“I’m not sure I’m going to tell Carver that I’m pregnant precisely for that reason,” she replied, sadly.  “He may get the ‘adopted’ story.  It’s not like he can really lecture me about not being responsible; at least _I’m_ the one actively working to continue the ‘Hawke’ name and legacy, right?”  She swirled the bubbly water in her own glass and sighed.  She should be feeling happy, overjoyed, elated.  Instead she felt… tired. 

“You don’t seriously think Carver would do anything?” Merrill asked, alarmed.  “He wouldn’t tell the Knight-Commander, would he?”

“You can’t trust Templars to do anything,” Anders said, and Hawke could see that the conversation would quickly reach “glowing blue” territory if she didn’t back it off.

“We’ll see what happens when it happens,” she told them both.  “For now, I think we’d better settle up so we can get Fenris back to his mansion to sleep it off.”

“I don’t need your help,” he slurred slightly, head still tilted down so she couldn’t read the expression on his face.  “I can handle whatever I need to, Hawke.”

“Of course, Fenris.  But I think we’d all feel a lot better if we saw you get home.  And then Anders can sleep over with me,” she said, which was met with the same amount of enthusiasm by Fenris as if she declared that she was going to marry the other mage.

“No,” he said, firmly.  “The abomination can stay at his own clinic.”

“Fenris,” she tried, softly.  “Anders is going to stay in a guest room.  It’s too late for him to try getting back to Darktown by himself.”

“No,” he replied, and Hawke sighed again, but in frustration.

“Varric…?”

“Blondie can stay with me tonight,” Varric said, giving Hawke a curious look.  “Especially if it’s going to cause that much of an issue.”

“Maker’s breath,” she muttered to herself, and rubbed at her temples.  “Varric, settle up here, then.  I need to get home.  I’m exhausted, and I’m sure getting Fenris back to his mansion is going to be tons of fun.”

“I can see myself home,” Fenris said, his voice slurred with the alcohol.  “It’s only the third bottle, Hawke.”

“It’s only the third bottle, Hawke,” she mimicked, mockingly, but she did it softly so that Fenris could not hear.  Anders and Varric chuckled, however, and Merrill gave her a curious look.  Hawke waved a hand at Merrill, to dismiss the question, and then got to her feet.  “C’mon, Fenris, we need to go.”

“I don’t need your help,” he reiterated, but clung to his wine bottle as Hawke helped him to get to his feet, glaring ineffectually around at the others. 

“Maker, you’re so much heavier than you look,” she groaned, putting his arm around her shoulder.  “See you tomorrow, Varric?”

“Actually, there are some things we need to discuss tonight, Hawke.  I’ll stop by after you’ve gotten Broody home safely.”

“I’ll go with you, Hawke,” Merrill said.  “Just in case you need any extra protection.  Even Hightown isn’t that safe after dark, you know.”

“I know, I know,” she replied, rolling her eyes.  “Maker, I can’t believe they put _me_ in charge of the safety of this city.” 

They managed to make their way out of the restaurant and a good five paces before Fenris stumbled and fell to the ground, then vomited all over Hawke’s boots.  Hawke tilted her head back and made a sound that was a cross between a pained laugh and a moan.  The perfect ending to the perfectly tortured day.

 


	3. Sleepless Nights Preparing for Sleepless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke has some conversations and some trouble sleeping, Fenris passes out.

“…And so, I couldn’t just leave him at his mansion,” Hawke finished up.  “If he chokes on his vomit, I’d never forgive myself for it.  I shouldn’t have even let him get into that third bottle.”  She slumped down on the sofa in front of the fire as Varric enjoyed a glass of some rare Antivan brandy that someone had gifted to her recently.  _She_ certainly wasn’t going to be enjoying said brandy any time soon.

“He’ll be okay waking up in your guest room, I take it?”  Varric asked.  Merrill was in the upstairs part of the library, humming as she looked over the various plants that Hawke had up there, and Anders was looking through some of the books, probably trying to make sure that his manifesto was where people could get to it, in the most popular volumes. 

“He’s done it before,” Hawke replied, and pressed the tips of her fingers against her eyes.  “He might be a bit confused, but he’s slept in that room before, during some of the worst weather, so it will be somewhat familiar to him.  And I’ll check on him a few times while he’s sleeping.  I doubt I’ll be getting much sleep, though.” 

“Not even given birth yet and you’re already checking on someone through the night,” Varric chuckled.  He sat back in the comfortable chair and put his feet up on the low table in front, the heel of one booted foot resting on the toe of another.  “So, are you planning on marrying Ser Broodiness, Hawke?”

Hawke shifted slightly to check and see that neither of the others were in easy listening distance, and she kept her voice pitched low for Varric only as well.  “This… wasn’t exactly planned, you know.”

“I figured that part out,” Varric admitted.  “But you seem a little bit happy about it, at least, and Fenris seems… to be handling it about as well as I would have expected him to.  But I thought you two were together?  That’s what tends to lead to situations like that, you know.”

“I’m not sure ‘together’ is the right word.  It was...”  She untied the leather wrap around the bottom of her braid and started unplaiting her hair.  “It was just one night,” she managed, tilting back to check on the others again before admitting that.

“That doesn’t seem much like the elf,” Varric said, and then took a long drink of his brandy.  “Was it your idea?”

“No,” she admitted, and realized that her voice cracked during the single syllable.  Maker.  “It… wasn’t my idea, and not my preference, either, truth be told.”

“Two months ago, eh?  That wasn’t long after we ran into that Hadriana woman.”

“I’m pretty sure that had _something_ to do with it, although it wasn’t the same night.  Maker, anything I tell you is going to wind up in one of your stories, isn’t it?” she said, accusingly.

Varric held up his hands in protest.  “All names will be changed to protect the innocent,” he promised.  “And the not-so-innocent as well.”  The grin he gave her was downright devilish and Hawke couldn’t help a low chuckle and an eye-roll at it.  “But you know the others are going to ask questions about it.  It’s not like he’s been able to hide how he feels; I just can’t figure out why he isn’t _acting_ on how he feels.”

“He’s not very good with dealing with his feelings yet, I think,” she murmured.  “You’d better enjoy that brandy, I’d certainly kill for a taste of it.”

“Too bad you’re not a dwarven woman.  All good dwarves know that their moms loved them if they drank while pregnant.”

“That explains some things,” Hawke said.  “Such as the fantastic chest hair.”

“It’s always the chest hair,” he replied, chuckling deeply. 

Hawke sobered quickly and wiggled her bare toes, crossing her fingers over her still-flat belly.  “But seriously, Varric… I don’t know, with Fenris.  I don’t know his plans, or what he wants.  He said he wanted a few days to ‘think about things,’ and then he insisted on going with me to Anders’s clinic and the only reason he got kicked out of the examination was because he didn’t trust Anders to stay professional.  One minute he’s staring at me as if I’m the only water in a desert and the next minute he’s telling me he can take care of himself.  I just…”  She moved her hands back to her unbraided hair and started running her fingers through it.  “I just don’t know.”

“Hawke, you know he’s covered in spikes, like some sort of angsty porcupine,” Varric told her.  “Maybe… maybe you shouldn’t count on him to be more involved.”

“I guess I won’t,” she said, and nothing in the world would have been able to keep the sadness and disappointment out of her voice.  “I’ve been alone since Mother was killed, and I need to face those facts.”

“You’re not alone, Hawke.  You have us.  All of us.  And even if Broody doesn’t decide to man up and face the consequences, he’ll still be there as part of your crew, and you know it.  The man might not care a spit for mages or magic, but he’d walk through fire for you no matter what and you _have_ to know that.”

“I… suppose I do.”  The clock above the mantle chimed the hour: 11.  “Maker, Varric, you all need to be getting to your respective beds!”

Varric swallowed the rest of the liquid in his glass and set it down on the little table before getting to his feet.  “As you wish, messere.  It’s not like you won’t have a broody baby to think of.  I’ll send Isabela by, but not too early, and I’ll warn her to avoid any potentially sensitive topics if the elf is around.”

“Good idea.  Isabela _can_ be a bit tactless,” she responded.  “Anders!  Merrill!  It’s time for you both to go home now!”

Goodnights were said and Hawke stopped in to check on Fenris, who was snoring slightly on his stomach.  Hawke stood in the doorway and watched the shadows from the moonlight play over him for a minute, lost in thought and frowning.  Fenris made a sound and shifted slightly and Hawke managed to come to herself and closed the door most of the way to before slipping into her own bedroom.  It was late and she was exhausted; her normal nap had been skipped in favor of all of the day’s activities, and she felt her eyelids drooping heavily.  By the time the downstairs clock was chiming midnight, she was resting on her bed, on her side, a pillow curled up against her stomach and one under her bed.

She _knew_ , theoretically, that she could count on her crew to be there.  They weren’t just people she worked with, they were part of her family as surely as Carver was.  Hawke had had no really close friends before they came to Kirkwall, but since coming here she had made the best of friends, people she could truly trust to have her back.  She may know nothing of motherhood, or even of being the Champion for the entire city-state, but they would work tirelessly for her.  In some cases, it was for the coin, mostly, and in other cases, it was more for the friendship aspect, but regardless, they would have her back as she had theirs.

She could hear the door to her room creak open slightly and then, a moment later, felt the bed indent as a large, warm body jumped onto it.  Her mabari, Hero, snuffled around a few minutes before making his customary “whumping” noise and lay down with his nose pressed against the small of her back.  Hawke stretched out and moved the pillow back to its customary place at the top of the bed before turning over and snuggling up against her own drooling, slobbering status symbol, scratching him behind the ears.

“So, Hero,” she began, voice kept quiet so as not to disturb anyone else in the house.  “I’m going to be a mommy, and you’re going to be an uncle-dog.”  Hero “whumphed” again, softly, and thumped his nub of a tail.  “That means more baths for you, and less treats.  You have to be in good shape in order to keep the bad guys away.”  Hero whined slightly and Hawke managed a giggle that was only slightly forced.  “It’s okay, it’ll be good for you.  You’re getting a bit fat, anyway.  And we’re going to be going on a trip, boy!  How does that sound?”  He “whumphed” much more loudly and she winced, hoping he didn’t wake anyone up.  “I’m not sure where we’re going, but we’ll go somewhere nice, that you can run around.  And catch squirrels?”  Again he whumphed, and she nuzzled her face against the fur of his side.  “I can always count on you, boy,” she murmured, and closed her eyes before drifting off to sleep.

Her sleep was, predictably, disturbed by various types of dreams, most of which made her feel very, very horrible at being a mother, some of which included Fenris turning her and the baby in to the Templars.  She woke several times during the night, her eyes feeling grittier each time, and forced herself to get out of bed to check on the drunken, slumbering elf.  Fenris showed absolutely no signs of having any sort of distress whatsoever, and Hawke envied him for that; how nice, to be able to sleep solidly.

When the dawn finally began peeking through, she woke up and decided that she would just say to hell with sleep and would stay up.  This morning, she was able to avoid most of the morning sickness, probably because she had been up and down so often during the night, but she knew, from past experience, that it would hit her harder towards the afternoon, especially if she didn’t eat several small snacks.  Orana, Bodahn, and Sandal were all still sleeping, and Hawke, never one to let boredom get to her, decided to go ahead and cook breakfast, making sure to make enough for five, even though she had a strong suspicion that Fenris would really not enjoy eating when he awoke. 

Eggs, toast, and little sausage patties, since she could not stomach the smell of bacon anymore and because she desperately craved meat lately.  Anders had told her that was normal, to both want food and have foods she couldn’t stand to eat or smell, and she could remember, vaguely, from the few pregnant women she had spent time around in Lothering that such was the case. 

Today there were going to be plans made.  One thing she had already decided, in between the short-ish naps she had taken, was that she was going to visit Xenon at the Black Emporium and see if she couldn’t get him to do some sort of appearance-altering; she knew, from previous experiences, that hair could be changed in color and style, and skin tone could be dyed a certain amount, but perhaps the… man… knew more ways to alter appearances that were neither permanent nor completely awful.  One of the best ways of hiding was being in disguise and not looking like you normally do.

The next thing would be planning on where to go.  The more she thought about it, the more a quick jaunt somewhere far away, like Antiva or Rivain, or even Orlais, sounded better, and then coming back quietly and staying a fair distance from the city, but not too far away that Anders couldn’t make it out to check on her.  She knew Anders was watched, and if he was being watched, he could be traced to her.  But, there was none she trusted in delivering her child more than him.  A village midwife could probably do it, but _things_ would wind up coming out, and even the best and most disciplined mage couldn’t control their magic that well during birthing pains.  Even the best-intentioned midwife or Healer would be tempted if offered enough coin to divulge that the Champion of Kirkwall had just given birth.  Or even just a random mage who lived outside the village had just given birth.  She wondered, vaguely, what her own mother had done.  But then, she hadn’t been a mage, and her father had been able to hide his magic fairly well, from what she had been told.

So.  A visit from Isabela.  A visit _to_ the Black Emporium.  A decision on where to go.  And she would need to be seen out and about for the next fortnight or so, while travel arrangements, including coin and places to stay, were being made.  Some small amount of packing.  She could discuss the idea of new clothing with Merrill, too; the woman had to know someone in the alienage who would be willing and able to make dresses that she could wear for when she got larger.  Getting them made now, covertly, and ordered by Merrill, would reduce the amount of problems they would run into later.  Assuming she didn’t balloon up like a house, of course; she had heard some women did that, even women with her smaller frame.  She had a few inches on Merrill, true, but not much more in the bust or in the general size; her hips were wider, but a dress made a certain way would take that into consideration, as well. 

Toast finished, eggs finished, sausage finished, and the rest of the household, sans her unexpected guest, all rising and probably hungry, Hawke begin plating out breakfast, slipping one of the small sausage patties down to Hero, as was her custom.  Some hot ginger tea, to help with the general nausea and to make sure she passed water _all day long_ , and soon she was sitting down and enjoying her little fare.  After a few moments Orana came in and fussed over her, exclaiming that it was too early for mistress to be up, and mistress should not be cooking breakfast in her condition!  Hawke grimaced and rolled her eyes, wishing she had been able to keep that particular news from Orana longer than last night, but the woman was deathly afraid, still, even after months of being shown kindness, of putting a toe out of line.  Bodahn and Sandal came in not long after, making a great fuss over the good smells, and soon the three of them were joining Hawke in breaking their fast, looking better rested than she certainly did and felt.

“I may have to go out in a little while.  Messere Fenris is here, asleep in the main guest room.  He had rather too much to drink last night, but if he rises while I’m gone, let him eat or drink whatever he wishes _other_ than any more alcohol, and tell him he is welcome to remain here and rest until I get back.  I have only a few errands to run and I will certainly be back by midday.”

“As you wish, Mistress,” Orana said, nodding.

“Also, Messere Isabela should be arriving sometime.  She may get here while I’m gone as well.  For Andraste’s sake, try to keep her away from Messere Fenris or I’m afraid they’re going to be impossible and may get blood on the carpet again.”

Bodahn chuckled and Sandal made an approving sound; nothing like some bloodshed to get the day started, eh? 

“Just to let the three of you know, I’m planning on taking a trip soon.  I will be away for quite a while, possibly even a year, but you are welcome to remain here and take care of the estate for me.  Life will continue on for you as expected, and I no doubt expect many of my crew will stop by and see to things that need seeing, especially my correspondence.  You will be paid regularly, as you have been, and will have whatever coin you need to continue upkeep on the estate.”

“Mistress, if you wish me to go with you, I will,” Orana promised, and Hawke knew the young woman was sincere.  She opened her mouth to tell Orana that it was best she remained at the estate, and then closed it with an audible click of her teeth.  It was true, that she would need a woman to help her, and, while some knew she had a young elven lass to do maid work and such around the house, Hawke hadn’t exactly had a lot in the way of visitors the past few months, being too full of grief over her mother to entertain, and then recovering from the injuries from the Arishok.  She had done a lot of traveling to others and being entertained there, yes, but…

“I will think on it,” she said to Orana, instead of dismissing it outright.  “It’s true that I will need a capable young woman to help me out in my travels.”

“That’s our Miss Orana,” Bodahn said, fondly.  “Very capable.  It was a lucky day for us, indeed, when you brought her into the household.”  Orana flushed prettily at the compliment and Hawke grinned, wondering if Bodahn wasn’t possibly sweet on her.  Or perhaps he saw her as a daughter; he knew the man had been married, back in Ferelden, and that, while Sandal wasn’t his son by birth, the boy was old enough to be his naturally.  Orana was in her late teens, at best.  Yes, the more she thought about it, the more she believed Bodahn must look on her as a father would. 

“It was a lucky day, indeed, Bodahn,” Hawke agreed, out loud. 

“The Mistress is too kind,” Orana murmured, but her words had a pleased sound, and the lovely blush on her face didn’t go away.  Good; Orana needed all the positive reinforcement that she could get.  It was important that she understood that she was _not_ a slave, to anyone. 

“Right,” Hawke said, clapping her hands together lightly and pushing away from the table.  “I’m going to get ready to go out.  You three…. Do the things that need doing.  Remember about Messeres Fenris and Isabela.  Maker, I hope his hangover isn’t too bad.  Orana, you might want to be listening out for him and brew him some of that willowbark, elfroot, and spindleweed tea you’re so good at.  He’s going to be an absolutely _massive_ grump, I’m sure of it.  And apologies to you beforehand; if he’s an ass, just let me know and I’ll get onto him.  I know none of you will.”

“Mistress!” Orana said, shocked.  Shaking her head ruefully, Hawke chuckled to herself.  Of course, Orana wouldn’t dare say that any of Mistress’s guests were acting like an ass, but Hawke would know better.

And then upstairs to wash up and dress, trying to get the gritty feeling out of her eyes, trying to get the too-dried-out feeling to go away.  She wouldn’t waste time getting a full bath, but a quick wash would suffice, and some clean clothes.  The tea had her needing to make water already, and she dreaded the idea of going out to the Black Emporium without the knowledge of where a proper privy would be, between the two places.  She may just have to stick to the more well-known areas, she thought to herself, and stop in and buy something quick from a merchant if she felt she needed to go, then beg use of the privy there.  She was well known, after all, and few merchants would turn away a paying customer. 

At least she was less distracted today.  The hard parts were over with, she felt: confirming the pregnancy with Anders, and telling Fenris about it.  Even though he had reacted just about as she had expected, she wasn’t dead, and no one else was, either.  Chalk it up as a success.  Still, Hawke couldn’t help but stand in front of the mirror again and eye her belly, checking to see if she could tell any difference from the day before.  It still appeared as flat as ever, and her hips appeared as bony.  Surely, even at two months, her stomach _must_ be a little bit fatter, yes?  Hawke pushed her breasts up slightly, and then pushed them together, making faces at herself in the mirror for a moment, pushing her belly out as far as it could go.  She ran a hand over the flat plain of it and scowled again.  She didn’t want to get as fat as one of those elephants that Fenris had told her about, but she still wanted to put on enough weight to be healthy.  That was something she should probably talk to Anders about: how to put on more weight without it being unhealthy weight.  She was eating for two, now, after all, but one of them was very tiny, too small to see.

“What are you _doing_ , Hawke?” came Isabela’s amused question from her doorway.  Hawke jumped, startled at first, and then chuckled ruefully.

“I’m trying to see if I can tell that my stomach’s gotten fatter.”

“Ah.  I heard a little bird mention something about that.  It’s why I came over relatively early.”  Hawke blinked at that; Isabela _was_ a lot earlier than Hawke had personally expected her to be.  “I know, I know,” the pirate said, holding up her hands and rolling her eyes.  “But Varric made me promise to get over here and soon as I woke up, and I, for one, didn’t drink myself to excess last night nor did I have company.  It was positively _boring_.”

“We’ve all got to have an off night,” Hawke quipped. “But I’m glad you came over early as you did.  I was just getting ready to leave.”  She marked her words by pulling on her clothes: light trousers, this time, to go with a lightweight tunic, and a robe that tied to go over it all.  “I’m thinking that my first stop is to see Xenon.”

“Xenon?”  Isabela raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow.  “Why in Thedas would you want to see him?  I wasn’t aware that dead mages knew a lot about babies, although he probably knows more about it than Fenris does.” 

“Maybe not a lot about babies,” Hawke supplied, “but I know for a fact he’s got a mirror there, and I can probably get my hair color changed, and maybe my skin color, too.  A few weeks in and, if he can do it, I go see him before we leave out of here for… Destinations Unknown, so far.”

“Good idea, sweet thing!  I’ll make a rogue out of you yet,” Isabela promised, winking at her.  “Now if we can just work on your fashion sense.  Your taste in men, by-the-by, is absolutely superb.  That taut body.  That brooding demeanor.”  She whistled, low and appreciative.

“Fenris is hardly mine, Isabela.”  Hawke sighed wistfully as she sat down to pull on her boots.  “And that reminds me.  I need you talk to you about…that…”

“He’s hardly yours?  The man got a child on you that you’re keeping, and he looks at you as if you put the moon in the sky.  It’s almost disgusting, if it weren’t for the thought of the two of you in bed here, in the throes of passion and crying each other’s names.”  Isabela drifted off for a minute and licked her lips, an odd smile on her face.

“Maker, ‘Bela.  No.  Fenris and I… aren’t exactly together.  And I’d rather not gossip about it, if it’s alright with you, but… Just no.  We’re not together.  It was his idea, I guess, I don’t know.  It wasn’t _my_ idea.  But I’m honoring his wishes.  So, no jokes like that, if you please.”

“Oooh,” Isabela cooed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.  “Does that mean he’s available?”  A cool look from Hawke, one bordering on icy cold, and Isabela raised her hands in supplication.  “I retract the question, sweet thing.  I will have to go on dreaming, I suppose.”

“I’m sure your dreams are much better than my reality,” Hawke told her.  “Now… ready for a shopping trip to the Black Emporium?”

“Only if we can stop by Lowtown while we’re out.  I found this amazing hat shop there…”

 


	4. Xenon...in the 9th and not quite half Age!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Isabela visit Xenon for a little tête-à-tête,

“Welcome.”  A pause that went on a beat too long.  “Champion,” Xenon’s voice drawled.  He always sounded half-starved for air one minute when he talked, and then the next minute his voice boomed loudly, as if he had too much air.  Considering that Hawke was almost entirely positive that Xenon was dead, she was starting to wonder if the… man… had forgotten how airflow and voices worked. 

It wasn’t as if the Black Emporium got a lot in the way of foot traffic.  For one, you usually had to have an invitation to get into it in the first place.  Hawke was lucky in that she managed to snag an invitation the first year she and her family were living in Kirkwall, and had stopped into Xenon’s place many times, to get a variety of interesting (and somewhat expensive) gear that usually was much, much better than anything else she was able to find. 

Fenris _hated_ the place.  You could smell the magic the moment you walked in; it was almost as if lyrium were dust, instead of liquid, and floating around in the air everywhere in glittering motes.  When she touched something, which was usually at her own risk, she always felt as if her fingers should come away covered in some sort of glittery blue powder; not for any sort of physical feeling, but something that touched at her inside.  Perhaps it was the Emporium reacting with her mana?  Or Xenon himself; the man was said to have been a renowned mage, before his death, if death it was, indeed.  But he had so many impossible things in his store, and it seemed like there was never the same inventory twice when she visited.

“Good to see you again, Xenon,” she told the Antiquarian.  “I was wondering if you could give me a little bit of advice, actually.”

“Advice?” his voice boomed throughout the small store.  “I… could.”  A long pause.  “Give you advice.”  Another long pause; Hawke managed to count to “10” during it.  “If you wish, Champion.  Let me guess… advice of a personal…”  Another long pause, but this one was filled with knowing.  “Nature?”

“Oh wise, Xenon, you do indeed see far,” she said.  It never hurt to flatter the… man’s… sense of ego.  Isabela nudged her and rolled her eyes, and Hawke shrugged slightly.

“You wish the mirror,” Xenon told her, voice like someone gasping out their last breath.

“Would it work for that?  Would changing my appearance affect the babe?”

“It… would work,” Xenon acknowledged.  “Your babe… will look the same…”  He paused the longest time yet, and the two women exchanged glances.  Isabela got bored and went over to the golem, Thaddeus Gigantus Crumbum, and began poking around on him.  “ **Don’t** ,” Xenon said, sharply, “manhandle… the golem.”  He sucked in a breath, sharply.  “The babe will be fine,” he finished.

“I can trust in your discretion then?” Hawke said, nonchalantly.

“Even the Templars cannot find me if I do not wish them to,” Xenon told her.  It was possibly the longest sentence she had ever heard him say without wheezing or booming.  “Now, unless you wish to purchase something…” he gasped in sharply, and she thought he was going back into his slumber.  “You have much to do, Champion.”

“I’ll see you in about two weeks then, Xenon.”  Hawke waved to the corpse-thing lightly, directing a smile at it/him, before grabbing Isabela’s arm and practically dragging her out of the Emporium and through the maze of sewers and tunnels running through Darktown that one had to take to find the place. 

By the time they reached the _end_ of that maze of tunnels that led to Darktown, Hawke and Isabela were running and laughing.  It felt…freeing.  Almost like she was a kid again, running around with Bethany, or one of her other farmgirl friends.  The last eight years washed away, and she had no more responsibilities than minding her siblings, studying her magic, and helping Mother and Father around the farm.  But, with Darktown came what passed for daylight, and a somewhat distant view of Anders’s clinic, and the world came crashing back down around her again, sharply.  Hawke sighed and panted slightly, standing there, slightly bent, with her palms resting on her knees and her hair hanging loose down around her face.

“You’re slowing down already, Hawke,” Isabela needled.  Hawke scoffed, but knew it was true. 

“Maker, ‘Bela, what am I going to do when I’m the size of a house?  I’m barely going to be able to waddle around.  It’s a good thing Fenris got out when he did, because I’m going to be fat, swollen, and hideous all around.”

“Are you kidding?  He’ll take one look at you and be on his knees begging for you to take him back,” Isabela said.  “I’ve seen that kind too often.  And he left you before he knew you were pregnant, too.”

“I think he left me before his seed had time to dry,” she muttered angrily, and Isabela waved it off.

“The man doesn’t know if he wants up or down, Hawke.  You’ll just have to give him time.  I can pretty well guarantee that he’ll wind up darkening your doorstep more often than not, that way.  Not exactly the way I would want to handle things; I tend to be more direct, and in-your-face, and no-strings-attached.”

“I’m well aware of your preferences, ‘Bela.  You tend to not shut up about them.”

“Har.  Har.  Har.”  Isabela replied, scathingly.  “If everyone did like me, there’d be none of these emotional entanglements,” she assured her friend.  “If everyone just stuck with getting their jollies and getting things taken care of, and taking those special teas, there would be a lot more happiness in the world.”

“And a lot fewer babies,” Hawke said.  She leaned against one crumbling pillar and started working her hair back up into a messy, homemade bun.  “Really, it’s not the having the baby part that’s the problem.  It’s the being unwed part, and the fact that the father might hate me.  I’m rather fond of the idea of having a child, now that I’ve gotten the ‘scared shitless’ part over with.”

“Better you than me,” Isabela told her, earnestly.  “I really don’t think I could even begin to handle a child.  I wouldn’t want one, to begin with.  I worked too hard to earn my freedom.”

“You mean you bedded the assassin who killed your husband, right?”

“Working hard has many different definitions, sweet thing.  That night was some of the hardest work I’d ever done.  A good night’s ride, and all that.”  Hawke couldn’t help but chuckle at the bawdy joke. She straightened, knuckling the small of her back and then adjusting the open-fronted robe, re-tying the sash and adjusting the belts while Isabela did the same with the scarf she always wore in her hair.

“So, what color should I change my hair to?” she asked, wondering how she would look as a blonde.

“Redheads have more fun, I’ve heard,” Isabela said.  “And they’re fiery, like you are.  I think your elf would probably wind up in your bed again if you changed it to something bright like that.”

“Maker, ‘Bela, he’s not interested,” Hawke complained.

“Oh, he is, sweet thing.  And I’ll argue the point with you every time.  You’ve caught him once, now you need to catch him again.  And you could do it best with fiery, red hair.”

“You don’t think it’d turn out orange and wash me out like Aveline?” 

The two women chatted about various hair colors and hairstyles on the way back to Lowtown, where they did, indeed, stop in the amazing hat shop that Isabela had run across.  The proprietor ran himself silly, with the Champion there patronizing his shop, and she couldn’t help but buy ‘Bela the audacious hat that she picked out, all in reds and golds with a feather on.  By the time they were finally done in there and headed back towards Hightown, it was working on noon, and Hawke was feeling the first pangs of nausea that told her she had gone too long without eating, and a certain fullness in her bladder that told her she needed to find a privy and find it _soon_.

Isabela was, of course, invited to eat the midday meal with them, and Hawke raced upstairs to the master bath to first pee like a Champion and then be a little bit sick.  Apparently Fenris was awake and in as foul a mood as she expected, but at least he didn’t start in with the mild complaining until after she had finished vomiting what was left of her breakfast. 

To his credit, he _was_ alarmed at her being ill, until she explained to him it was a natural part of being pregnant and usually meant the pregnancy was healthy, so long as she didn’t get _too_ sick. 

“Really,” she told him, after swishing some fresh water in her mouth and rinsing it, “this isn’t half bad.  The poor sleep I got last night meant I’ve only been sick this once today, and if I eat and try to not miss any meals, I’ll probably be good the rest of the day.”

“I still do not like it,” Fenris replied, dourly. 

“You don’t have to like it, and neither do you have to suffer it,” she snapped, and then, upon seeing the hurt and shock on his face, sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her hips back against the doorframe and brushing wisps of hair out of her face to cover for the headache that was beginning.  “I apologize for snapping at you,” she managed.  “I’m afraid there’s going to be a great deal of that, and probably some unstable emotions over the next several months.”

“I will endeavor to not trip your wires, then,” he replied.  Was that a joke?  Andraste’s frilly knickers, what did she even _see_ in this man?  That was a _horrible_ joke.  “Orana has lunch ready downstairs,” he told her, and the resultant growling of her stomach drove any irritation at the man out of her head immediately. 

“Nothing with bacon, right?”

He quirked a brow at her.  “I cannot see how you would find distasteful one of the proofs that the Maker loves us and wants us to be happy,” he said.

“I didn’t have a problem with it until someone got handsy,” she snapped again. 

“I will endeavor to not get ‘handsy’ with you again, then,” he finished, and left her there, headed downstairs towards the dining area.  Hawke clenched her eyes closed and made a fist with either hand, then counted to twenty before taking a deep breath and following him.  She had to keep reminding herself that she _wasn’t_ mad at Fenris; he hadn’t done anything she hadn’t asked him to do.  Thinking back, she had asked it of him very insistently, in fact.  But right now, he was the last person she wanted around.  Perhaps if he would _go away and think on things_ on his own, he would come to a decision about what he actually wanted out of… life, she supposed… faster than if he hung onto her like she was going to disappear at any moment. 

With another sigh, Hawke straightened herself out and started downstairs as well.  Whatever Orana had made for lunch, it was certainly calling her name and Hawke was eager to get started.  Unfortunately, she had quite forgotten that Isabela was downstairs as well, and she walked into the dining room to Isabela’s infamous teasing and Fenris’s infamous glowering and brooding.  It was nearly enough to make her lose her appetite!

“You two, _please_.  I want to get through lunch without any arguments or drunkenness, okay?”

“I was only telling him that he should make an honest woman out of you,” Isabela teased, cozying up next to Hawke the minute the woman sat down.

“And I was telling you that it is none of your business, wench,” Fenris added.

“Maker, it’s neither of your business right now.  The only thing that’s anyone’s business is _eating_.”

“You’re no fun,” Isabela argued.  “Neither of you are any fun.  Are you not going to be any fun for the next million months?”

“I’m not going to be any fun over the next few weeks, that’s for sure,” Hawke muttered.  Orana chose that moment to bustle in with the food, and Hawke felt incredibly grateful to the woman twice over.  There wasn’t much in the way of talking as they all tucked into the simple salad, and what _was_ said was mainly teasing and bickering on Isabela and Fenris’s part.  Varric came in before they were finished, and he added to the teasing and bickering.  By the time Hawke was done eating, she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to keep lunch down, because of the stress, and she quietly pulled Orana aside and requested her brew an entire pot of elfroot and spindle weed tea. 

“Is Aveline going to drop by soon?” Hawke asked Varric.

“A little bit later, she said.  I did think that maybe we want to keep Choir Boy out of this, though.”  An unpleasant jolt went through her at that, and it must have shown on her face because Varric continued.  “He’s a little bit too much into the Chantry for comfort, Hawke.”

“Sebastian is a good man,” Fenris put in, quietly.  “But I think the dwarf is right.”  Hawke sighed again and wondered if sighing was going to be something she was going to be doing a lot of in the future.

“So,” Hawke said, to the group in general.  “Where to first, everyone?”

* * *

Two weeks passed quickly.  Hawke made arrangements for travel: Salle, Rialto, and Antiva City, in Antiva, booked and paid for aboard a rather large passenger ship, and then on to Llomerynn, in Rivain.  The important thing was that it was booked and paid for; Isabela was going to pass as Hawke for most of the trip, and Varric was going to accompany the pirate there as well, to take care of any paperwork and hopefully forge adoption papers while he was in one of the two countries.  Hawke was putting a lot of trust into Varric, but she had been putting a lot of trust into him the past nearly four years, anyway, and it had always paid off.

Meanwhile, Hawke herself was actually going to take passage to Highever, in Ferelden.  The trip would be relatively short, and when she was sure that there was no one trailing her, she would sail to Ostwick from Amaranthine, and then from Ostwick, she would travel to the eastern side of Kirkwall, to Grunding, one of the smaller villages on the outskirts there.  The plans were made and tickets all purchased in such a manner that figuring out exactly where Hawke was would be very difficult if you weren’t in the know, and they had planned for only Hawke’s crew, minus Sebastian, to know.

Two weeks.  Measurements taken and passed along to Merrill, to find a seamstress and engage her in a variety of plain dresses to be made for a woman “in her condition” in the latter months.  Two weeks, and scouring the maps for smaller villages and Varric putting his contacts to use around Kirkwall to find a smaller cottage or house, something with only two or three rooms and an outdoor privy or bathhouse.  She had decided that Orana would indeed come along with her, to help keep house.  Two women living alone, and one of those women slowly growing large with child, would attract less attention than one woman alone.  There would be fewer whispers of “mage” and hopefully fewer rumors that she was Lord So-and-So’s mistress, especially if she let it be spread around that she was recently widowed and bought the house with the little money her husband was able to leave her.

Two weeks, and plans made, and preparations for supplies.  Two weeks, and a visit to Xenon to practice the looks she wanted to change in that queer mirror.  Two weeks, and a letter to Carver, letting him know about her audacious plans for traveling to Antiva and Rivain, with promises to bring him back gee-gaws and such.  Much easier to write him than to see him in person; Carver always did have a knack at being able to tell when she was lying and when she wasn’t, if they were face-to-face.

The worst part of the two weeks wasn’t the anticipation or the need to get as much done then; it was, instead, dealing with Fenris.

Fenris did not approve of any of Hawke’s plans.  He broke them apart, listing everything that could possibly go wrong.  He refused to accept that Hawke would travel to Ferelden with only Orana and not him.  He refused to accept that Hawke did not plan on him staying with her at the little house that was finally purchased in a small town near the Planasene Forest.  If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn that he was frantic with worry and jealousy, but any attempts to talk to him in a civil manner about it was met with coldness and brevity of words.  No, he didn’t want to talk about it, he just thought Hawke was being rash and foolish and _she needed to have him there_. 

“You cannot fight.  Let me be your sword.”

“You cannot fight.  Let me be your blade.”

“You cannot fight.  You cannot depend on Orana to defend you.  Let me, Hawke.”

“Let me Hawke.”

“Let me…”

It was enough to echo in her dreams, those that weren’t filled with more explicit situations between the two.  (The dreams were enough to wake her gasping, flushed with embarrassment and lust.  She actually wound up talking to Anders about them, without any specifics.  Anders had simply laughed at her and told her those sorts of dreams were to be expected, and that she would be fine, so long as she remembered to stay away from demons.  She was, apparently, particularly susceptible to desire demons at that time.)  It was irritating, and she finally had to relent a certain extent, just to get him to stop bothering her about it, and assured him that she would be taking Merrill along with her to Ferelden, that it was a very, very short trip there and back, and that he was welcome to come visit them at her little house in Grunding.  Even that only placated him a certain amount, but she could give him no better than that.

The day she was set to leave, she had three bundles of packing to parcel out.  The first went with Isabella and Varric.  The second was being shipped ahead to the little house: mainly bedding and some pots and pans; the furniture, she was assured, was already purchased along with the house, although it was all sight unseen.  She assumed she could get what else she needed once she arrived there.  The third was to go with her, loaded aboard The Sullen Gull, the ship that would take her from Kirkwall to Highever.  A week, it was estimated, and she hoped it was a short week.  Hawke and sailing did not tend to agree.

Orana was escorted to the ship by Fenris, and Merrill and Hawke went to visit with Xenon again.  She had vague instructions on how to use the mirror, along with even vaguer assurances that her appearance would be put back to rights once she returned and used it again.  Soon the dark-haired, blue-eyed Marian Hawke standing in front of the mirror was transformed into a plumper-looking woman with reddish-blonde hair and brown eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles.  Hawke rather liked the freckles, and Merrill cooed over them, telling her that she looked positively adorable with them.  Xenon told her he preferred her old nose.  Hawke was fairly certain that Xenon wasn’t sure what a “good” nose looked like anymore, but she thanked him for his help, and left a generous donation and well-wishes for his Emporium, with promises to return in a year’s time or so. He gasped out his farewell, and well-wishes of his own, and then Hawke and Merrill were off to the docks, to find the ship.

Merrill and Hawke had both sailed before, but Orana was terrified enough that Fenris had not yet left her there alone.  Hawke suspected he was waiting to make sure she got there safely as well.  For a man who said he did not want to be with her, that their being together was a mistake, he certainly acted as if he had ownership of her, which only stoked the fires of her temper further.  Merrill had to separate the two of them before their loud words brought any more attention than it already had.  Fenris left in a huff, barely making a moment’s eye contact with her the entire time, wrenching promises that she write to him the moment they stepped off the ship in Highever, and again at Ostwick.

“Creators, Hawke,” Merrill said, after the ship had set sail.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you two were an old married couple.”

“Messere Fenris certainly acts fond of you,” Orana agreed.  Orana was always more comfortable around Merrill, probably because they were both young, female elves.

“Messere Fenris doesn’t know what he wants,” Hawke grumbled, holding on to the railing of the ship.  She didn’t know the first thing about ships, but she knew what a railing was, and that she was on the deck and not the floor. 

“I think he’s a man who knows what he wants, but is afraid to go after it,” Merrill said.  Hawke quirked a brow; sharp, appraising Merrill.  The woman always surprised her.

“I bet he’s going to make a beautiful baby with you, Mistress,” Orana sighed, happily.  Hawke held back a smile; she half-suspected Orana had a crush on Fenris.  She knew for a fact that half the women in Hightown wanted to bed him, and didn’t that just make that touch of jealousy rise up in her. 

“Enough about men,” she said, mock-sternly.  “This is going to be a ladies-only trip.  We’re going to enjoy Highever, and Ostwick, and we’re going to enjoy our new little house is Grunding.”

“You two will enjoy it,” Merrill said, pouting slightly.  “I’ll need to stay behind in Kirkwall to check on your dresses.”

“Sorry, Merrill.  But you can always come along with Fenris; it should only be a few days away from Kirkwall proper, by foot, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” the other woman said.  “But a few days alone with Fenris doesn’t excite me like it might you, Hawke.”  She chuckled; Fenris rather did hate Merrill’s blood magic, at that, even though, in the three years he had known the other elf, she hadn’t done anything worse than use it against someone who was attacking them. 

As they sailed away, Hawke watched Kirkwall get smaller and smaller.  She said a mental farewell to Hero, whom, it had been decided, was not going to be following along on her trip.  She hadn't been apart from the hound for long, since he had imprinted on her, and she was going to miss him, terribly.  But he would stay in Kirkwall and help guard the dwarves and the estate, and Fenris and Aveline both had promised to take him out and about with them, in the hopes that his being there might allay suspicions and to help keep him occupied.  He was getting on in years, anyway, and Hawke was afraid that another sea voyage might do him in, if fighting bandits and the like didn't.

They were told it would take a week to cross.  It took five days, instead; the Captain told them they had good winds and a relatively smooth sea, and Hawke smiled and nodded along with whatever he happened to tell them.  She was too seasick, along with the birthing sickness, to really care that they had good winds and a smooth sea, so long as her feet got back on solid land in short order.

Highever was a bustling, busy city, a major trade port and one of the biggest population centers in Ferelden.  The Blight hadn’t quite reached it, but the new Teryn of the place didn’t quite have the same grasp of politics that his father had had, and Queen Anora hadn’t turned her gaze so much to the northern parts of the country, instead focusing mostly on the southern parts that were touched more heavily by the darkspawn.  Therefore, it was slightly chaotic, and the prices were higher than she was expecting them to be.  It wasn’t much of a concern for them, of course, but Hawke did not like it when she wasn’t as prepared as she could be. 

By the time they reached Highever, she was nearly three months along and her stomach had abruptly begin showing some of the roundness she was expecting.  It was rather lower than she had thought it would be, with it being much more rounded below her navel as opposed to right around it.  Her breasts were slightly larger, too.  The mirror in the cabin on the ship wasn’t very good, being warped and bubbled, and the lighting was terrible, but she could feel her breast band fit tighter, and they looked slightly more rounded.  Her loose tunics hid the small swell, however, and few people paid that close attention to the size of her bosom, anyway, to tell whether it had grown or not, so Hawke wasn’t inclined to worry that much.  The trousers she had packed were all made with some sort of drawstring type of belt, and that helped keep them loose enough to not feel bad, while tight enough to not constantly fall down.

Their layover in Highever was only three days, and they spent most of those three days doing bits of shopping.  Hawke was trying to focus on getting things for Merrill and Orana, as a sort of “thank you” for helping her on this crazy mission, but they all wound up getting baby things, such as nappies and blankets and tiny little socks, and Hawke wound up buying skein after skein of soft yarn in soft colors, to practice knitting things for the babe.  It was surreal, knowing how much a baby would need, and it hit her several times, each time with the impact anew, that it was going to be _her_ babe needing these things.  Hers, and Fenris’s.  That didn’t bear thinking on, lest she upset her stomach more than it already was.

The weather from Highever to Ostwick wasn’t as good as the weather to Highever itself had been, and Hawke spent most of the trip as sick as a dog, barely keeping anything down.  That trip took a total of three weeks, putting her at three and a half months along, and an even more noticeable swell of her stomach, although her face was drawn and gaunt from her inability to keep food down.  They stayed in Ostwick a full two days longer than planned, and she made good on writing to Fenris there, as she had done in Highever, letting him know, in subtle terms, that she needed a small break from the traveling but that everything was well.  She also wrote a letter to Carver, to be posted after they left and made to seem as if it was coming from Salle, in Antiva, letting him know her trip was going well and that she was enjoying herself immensely. 

They were lucky enough to get in with a caravan, traveling along the coast of the Free Marches and making small deliveries from town to town.  This provided them with a bit more in the way of protection that three women traveling alone, two of them elves and considered easy prey anywhere in Thedas, were not afforded.  While the caravan stopped in Kirkwall and Merrill left the group, they wound up picking up Fenris, anyway, who was nearly chomping at the bit to see Hawke with his own two eyes once he realized Merrill was in town.  He insisted on escorting them the rest of the way to Grunding, and that he would do it whether Hawke accepted it or not.  He would barely look at the woman, simply throwing a canvas bag with, she assumed, a few belongings into the cart that they had purchased back in Ostwick, and taking control of the reigns of the poor mule they had roped into hauling the thing.

“Whether you like it or not, _Mary_ , I will be going with you.  Two women alone, one of them obviously with child, the other a young elf, even if they’re associated with such a caravan… You are lucky that these people did not rob you blind and leave you dead on the road.  I should never have let you cross to Ferelden alone.”

“We had a _plan_ , Fenris,” Hawke hissed at him, but Fenris looked anywhere but at her, letting his shaggy bangs fall into his face to hide his expression.

“We had a plan.  And now we have a new one.”


	5. Moving In and Expected Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Orana, and Fenris move into the little house in Grunding, and Anders comes to visit.
> 
> Warning: This chapter earns the "explicit" rating! This is *adult situations* and *smut*, people! You have been thoroughly warned. Proceed at your own risk and only if you meet the proper legal age for wherever you happen to reside!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit for a reason! Do not proceed if you object to adult situations, adult language, smutty sex, or aren't old enough to be privy to such things.

The house in Grunding was small, but tidy, and in good repair.  The furniture was good enough, and it was situated on a very small plot of land that had a tiny, well-kept garden in it.  It needed a small bit of weeding, but it had a couple of apple trees, as well as some carrots, potatoes, cabbages, and a variety of different herbs on site.  Hawke had missed having a garden, and was delighted to find out that she would get to practice the skills she had grown up with.  The house itself had two floors: two bedrooms upstairs, along with a sort of pantry-type closet between them, big enough for a cot, if it came down to it, and a sitting room and kitchen combination downstairs, with both a large stove to help keep the house warm in the cooler months as well as a hearth in the sitting room, much smaller than the stove but enough to help ward off the chill and allow some of the heat to rise to the upper rooms.  Out back, there was a building that was too large to be a shed and too small to be a barn, which housed the mule and the cart, and a large shed that was a combination outhouse and bathing chamber, with a large copper tub of all things.  Whoever had owned the house before then had been well-appointed, for this size of a town, and Varric had done well by Hawke in finding it.  It was situated close to the town green and the well, and had a smaller well of its own if needed.  Not that Hawke particularly needed to make use of a well, when she had magic that could conjure water from the air and heat it, too, but a trip or two each day to the bigger well would help put to rest any unnatural rumors about those who inhabited the house.

For it appeared that Fenris was absolutely determined to not leave Hawke’s side again.  He simply refused to go, even when she had insisted to him it was in the best interest for all of them.  She tried to order him, and to beg him, and to even tell him that it would cause a big scandal, for two unmarried women, one of whom was past four months along and obviously with child by that point, to be living in the house with an unmarried man, but he ignored it all, claiming that, if nothing else, he would act the part of the hired hand: fetching wood, doing repairs, carrying water, acting as a general chaperone for the two ladies in question.  Any time questions were asked, he played it off as if he were Orana’s brother, and the both of them in service to Hawke.  She was astounded that a man with as prickly a dignity as Fenris had would be willing to stoop to such shenanigans just to prove a point, but they soon gave over and Fenris took over the smaller of the two bedrooms, while Orana slept on a cot and Hawke took a slightly larger, if a little less comfortable, bed, in the larger of the two rooms.

The first few weeks were mainly the three of them settling in and finding a routine.  Fenris was not happy to be without his beloved wine cellar, and he let Hawke know, at no short length, how he felt about that.  Yet every time he complained, Hawke reminded him that he was there at no one’s orders but his own, and he settled the complaints down quickly.  Those evenings, he mainly spent drowning his sorrows at the local tavern and came back late, well into his cups, to drag himself upstairs and throw himself onto his bed and wake up late.

Orana and Hawke busied themselves with getting to know the neighbors.  Orana, who wouldn’t leave the house at all back in Kirkwall, found it novel being one of the only two elves in the small town.  She was soon being courted by most all of the single, local men, for Orana was a pretty thing, fresh-faced and shy.  Hawke had to have quite a number of talks with her about refusing to go “walking out” alone with any of the men, and more than once had to remind Orana that if she told them no, that it meant no, and if they pushed further, to remind them that Fenris was her “brother.”  Before too long, the young men were quite respectful, and both Hawke and Orana were learning about the best shops in the market, and all the juiciest gossip about who was seeing whom, where and when, and for how long.

Knitting was never something Hawke had been particularly good at, not like other types of farm work, such as gardening and cooking, but she managed to become proficient enough at it that, within a week, she had made a small receiving blanket in a sort of green color.  It had no pattern, but it was vaguely rectangular, and Orana cooed over it and praised Hawke’s progress.  When she was not practicing her knitting, she was working out in the garden, and they were always baking and cooking and sewing.  Back in Kirkwall, she could easily pay other people to do these things for her; indeed, she paid Orana to cook for her, and clean up for her, back home, and Bodahn and Sandal as well.  Here, she couldn’t let on that she was wealthier than she actually was, and had to fight to make every penny stretch just as if she didn’t have more to spend.

On into the fifth month, began receiving letters from Varric.  Apparently, he and Isabela were having a grand time out in Antiva, and Isabela was especially having fun passing herself off as Hawke.  However, there was little in the way of actual news to share, other than general addresses where the next letters should be sent, and a reminder to send something along for them to mail off to Carver, to help allay suspicions.

One thing Hawke dearly missed, but hadn’t even considered, in this grand, crazy scheme, was her library. 

Fenris had with him, as always, A Slave’s Life, which was the book she had given him many months back and started his journey to literacy.  She knew that just having possession of the book meant a lot to him, although she could never be completely sure if it was because Hawke had gifted the book to him, not realizing he didn’t know how to read (and how his eyes had widened with shock and something she couldn’t quite identify when she gave him the book; shock and surprise, perhaps, because Hawke just assumed he could read, assumed he was not lesser because he had been a slave?) and then using that as impetus to teach him, or because it represented something which he had never been allowed, or allowed himself, in the past.  However, Hawke had read over it several times by this point, and she had only thought to pack herself two simple novels (both of which were inspired by Isabela, if she were completely honest with herself.)  Orana did not know how to read, either, and Hawke was determined to teach the woman to read and continue with Fenris’s lessons, so she sent the man out to try to find any sort of books he could and purchase them, along with something to use as shelving for their growing collection.

He returned later that same day with five books in total; three of them were akin to the ones that she had “borrowed” from ‘Bela, one of them was a transcribed copy of the Chant of Light, and one of them was a sort of cookbook that she felt was absolutely perfect for Orana to begin on.  The shelving was three simple boards and a few nails, and Fenris soon inexpertly installed a shaky shelf on which to put their treasured finds.  Once the books were placed on there, it promptly fell, which caused brooding and angst on Fenris’s part, and laughter on the part of the two women; Hawke installed the shelf properly, after, and made Fenris watch as she did it.  She assured him that bodyguards were not expected to know the first thing about woodworking and the building of simple shelves and furniture, but that farmgirls knew all about such things, and that she would be happy to teach him more of it if he liked.  As in all things he did not know how to do inherently, he glowered, and acquiesced. 

Each morning, Hawke rose and, so long as Orana had risen first, checked herself in the mirror.  She measured her breasts, and palmed her belly, and looked at herself full-on, and in profile, carefully and studiously searching for any changes from the previous day.  She was putting on a little bit of weight; she could tell from her slightly plumper hips, and how her hipbones didn’t jut out as much; how her thighs were slightly softer in their roundness, and from the swell of her belly and the growing breasts, which were still sore and, as far as she was concerned, never _not_ going to be sore.  It was a regular morning ritual that the other two seemed to not know about, which was why it was, of course, inevitable that Fenris barged in on her while she was standing, naked as the day she was born, examining her profile in the mirror.

They locked eyes, Hawke feeling the tanned skin flush red under its sprinkling of magicked-freckles, Fenris’s tanned face turning first white, then red, all the way to the tips of his ears, as his gaze took her in entirely.  Hawke was in such shock that she barely managed to pull a blanket around her, and Fenris seemed to lack the wherewithal to turn from her, gaze traveling over first her nude, then her covered, body, licking his lips slightly as if he saw something he desperately wanted to try.

“Fenris, you should learn how to knock,” she chastised, more irritated than angry.

“I… Your stomach.  It is growing.”

“There’s a baby in there,” Hawke said, slowly and carefully, as if Fenris was unaware of the fact.

“Seeing it makes it more real,” he said, after a moment, and rather helplessly.  It hit her then, that he and she had not sat down and _spoken_ about things.  Everything they had said to each other for months had either been of the utmost necessity, or born of anger and irritation and fear.  This was something for which he had no frame of reference.  He had spoken, very rarely, of what life was like for slaves with families back in Tevinter, and it usually involved selling off the children and breaking up families, should the offspring of owned slaves not prove to be useful, or too much of a burden.  He had no memories of his mother, and no memories of his father, and only the vaguest concept of the existence of a sister.  He did not know how to be a father, or even if he wanted to be one, she suspected.

“Would you care to touch it?”  He jerked, jolted into awareness of the here and now, and stared at her in fear.  “I’m not going to bite you, Fenris, and neither is my stomach.  You can’t feel anything just yet, but you can still touch my stomach, if you want.  It’s your baby, too.”

“I can?”  He coughed slightly, eyes darting away, obviously nervous.  “I…  Yes, I would like that.”  He took hesitant steps towards her and extended his hand, almost as if he were trying to keep his body as far away from her as possible and still remain in the same general vicinity for that which he was about to do.  Hawke huffed an exasperated breath and grabbed his hand, then placed it over the swell of her stomach so that he could feel it through the blanket that still covered her. 

“Four more months, and you get to meet whatever little one is in there.  I can already feel her move around.”

“Her?”  He licked his lips again, daring a quick look at her face, and then put his eyes back on his nervous hand.

“Well, I can’t be _certain_.  Speaking of, Anders should be here sometime in the next week,” she told him.  “I expect you two not to fight.  As far as the townsfolk here are going to be concerned, he’s my brother, and that means that you have to be _his_ servant, too.  But don’t worry, I’m not going to let him get away with treating you badly.” 

Fenris slowly withdrew his hand, eyes going sullen again.  “I do not like this charade,” he told her.

“We wouldn’t have to do it if you’d have stayed in Kirkwall.”  He made a sort of disagreeing choking sound, but did not argue with her further.  “Do you need anything else?  Why’d you barge in here like that, anyway?”

“I was just… Concerned.  Is all.  You’re usually up and going by now.”

“I had a bit of the morning sickness,” she confessed to him, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

“Again?  I thought that had finished up by now.  Is there anything to be concerned about?”

“No, nothing to be worried about,” she assured him.  “Now, if you’ll please get out of here, I’ll get dressed and then I can have a proper breakfast and hopefully wash the taste of vomit out of my mouth.”  He made a face, and looked her over once again, appearing as if he wanted to speak, before shaking his head, locks of his silvery-white hair flipping around, and leaving as abruptly as he had entered her room, pulling the door closed behind him. 

* * *

 

Breakfast was only lukewarm when Hawke managed to get downstairs and get at it.  Fenris had, apparently, decided to wait for her before he began eating, but Orana had finished up breakfast and made her way out to the garden.  Overhead, the sky was darkening and the wind was picking up slightly, heralding an early-afternoon rain shower, and Orana wanted to get out and do whatever she could in the yard before it started.  Even a small garden like theirs needed daily work, to hold back weeds and to be checked over for any pests, and the sunlight and fresh air were good for the two women, who were otherwise cooped up in the house most of the time.  Orana was certainly not going to miss a chance to get her daily sunlight.

Therefore, Hawke and Fenris broke their fast alone, with Fenris drinking the black-and-orange tea that was popular in the area, and Hawke drinking her combination of green-and-ginger tea that she had gotten used to.  Whether or not it eased the birthing sickness, she wasn’t positive on, but once they had arrived in Grunding and she had made the tea a regular part of her daily breakfast, the nausea seemed to abate more.  Not to mention, the tea tasted quite good with a small bit of honey added to it. 

Breakfast this morning was toast, done perfectly as only Orana knew how to do, and bacon, and fresh strawberries with clotted cream, a near delicacy for her and something that cravings only made her desire more strongly.  Fenris always, oddly, seemed to forego his allotment of said strawberries and cream and pushed them on her, and Hawke never argued, enjoying the repast with a feeling quite like it was her due, since she was the one doing all the hard work in that particular endeavor.  It was good to be able to enjoy _all_ her favorite foods again, she thought, as she had gotten into the habit of thinking.  For whatever reason, those first months, the smell of bacon made her sick, and here she was, eating it with aplomb.  _Bacon is proof the Maker loves us, and wants us to be happy_ , Hawke firmly believed, enjoying the salty taste of the thick, juicy, crispy strips.  Orana made the _best_ bacon. 

“I will go by and check for any post, before the storm hits,” Fenris said, abruptly.  It was mainly a surprise because Fenris barely spoke to her, and especially not this early in the morning.  She could see the red flush under his dark cheeks, even to the tips of his ears; perhaps he was remembering walking in on her earlier.  She played a little scenario in her mind that ended in something other than her wrapped in her blanket and him leaving the room; his hand drifted quite a bit lower in that reverie, and she had to physically shake her head and blink several times before she was able to answer him.

“Are you expecting something in specific?” she asked, twirling one of the strawberries in the cream.

“No,” he told her, gruffly, and tilted his head back down.  She suppressed a sigh. 

“You should probably hurry, then, if you’re going to go,” Hawke told him, and Fenris stood abruptly.

“You are always wanting to get rid of me,” he said, voice in a near whisper.  “Had I known my presence would be so detestable to you, I’d have never stayed, and you and Orana could have fended for yourselves.”  Before she could respond, or even decipher the meaning behind his words, Fenris stalked to the coatrack beside the door and pulled his cloak off of it, sweeping it along his shoulders while he stalked from the house and out the front door, slamming it behind him.  It seemed the less moody and emotional _she_ got, the more _he_ did.

She washed up the breakfast dishes, noticing how her feet felt sore, and her legs as well.  Her lower back felt sore more and more often, and she actually had to sit down and rest halfway through doing the dishes.  Hawke kept a wary eye on the sky, deciding that there was no chance of getting any laundry done today (and how had she wound up being responsible for Fenris’s laundry, anyhow?  She wasn’t even married to the man, much less _with_ him, and she still wound up doing his bloody laundry!) before the rains hit, but she did go and sit about in the garden some, keeping Orana company.

Fenris returned to the house with both post _and_ Anders, which was a surprise.  Hawke had been expecting him, of course, but had expected his letter to arrive before he himself did.  Anders was, naturally, weary from the trip, and was glad enough to wash up quickly before the afternoon shower began.  Orana decided to go ahead and make a plain, thin soup and some fresh bread for the midday meal while Anders and Hawke caught up on the small sofa in the sitting room. 

“Kirkwall misses you, Haw -- _Mary_ ,” Anders said, tripping over using her fake name.  “The Knight-Commander refuses to allow the election of a new Viscount, and has taken the reigns quite cruelly.”  Hawke bit her bottom lip slightly, frowning, and fussed with the skirts of her plain dress.  Fenris, uncomfortable around Anders in the best of time, jealous in the worst, was banished upstairs to move the beds around, so that Anders could sleep on the small cot in Fenris’s room, while Hawke and Orana shared the bed in her room. 

“It won’t be forever,” she reminded him, gently.  Anders took her hand in his, gazing at her with those large, brown, sad eyes.  She had chosen her new look a purpose; she and Anders could easily pass for close relatives with these looks, especially as siblings, or, at worst, closely related cousins, and those eyes that looked at her were the same shade as the eyes she woke up to see every morning now.  Except in his case, him looking at her was tinged with sorrow, and want.

“It’s too long, Mary,” Anders said, and stole a quick look around before leaning forward and pressing a quick, and decidedly unchaste, kiss upon her lips.  Hawke started and pulled away from him, her face turning twelve shades of crimson.

“Anders,” she murmured.  “You know I— “

“I know,” he replied, as sadly as his eyes.  “But I have missed you so much.  I understand why you could not write to me more, but…  I have _missed_ you.”  He held on tight to her hand and pressed her palm against his chest, over his heart.  “I have missed watching you blossom into motherhood, Mary.  I would stay here with you, if you would let me.”

“You know that there are people in Darktown who need you, Anders,” she admonished, quietly.

“There are things I need, too.  Justice does not approve of how I feel about you,” Anders told her, and intertwined their fingers.  Hawke stared at their hands, sadness welling in her.  “No one would approve of two apostates together like I wish we would be.  Perhaps… Perhaps in time, you would love me like I love you.”

“Anders…”

He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed them against her skin, half-closing his eyes.  “Just… think about it.  Please.”

Hawke shook her head, but said, “I’ll think about it, but I can’t promise that I’ll do more than that.”  It was similar to the promise she had made to him three months previously.  She gently removed her hand from his grasp and he stayed in the same position he had been in, as if he wished he were still touching her.  “Now, Anders,” she said, her voice slightly louder and with a fake chipperness to it that made even her want to wince in reaction.  “Have you heard from Varric and Isabela?  They’ve told me they’re having a marvelous time…”

Orana seemed inordinately pleased to be having a guest, even if it was Anders, someone she was familiar with from back in Kirkwall.  For his part, Anders doted on Hawke, nearly to the point of making her feel somewhat uncomfortable.  After a short while, Fenris took his leave, probably to go drink his sorrows at the tavern; the two men could never stand to be together for long.  However, unlike other evenings, he didn’t return in a satisfactory time, and thus Hawke was left awake and fretting, pacing downstairs and trying to ease the pain that had settled into her lower and mid back and refused to leave.

“Hawke?” Anders called, from the stairs.  The rain was still coming down outside and there was only a single lamp left lit in the sitting room, shedding light and shadows in equal parts.

“I’m waiting for Fenris,” she told him, raising her voice just enough for him to hear.

“I’ll wait with you,” Anders offered.

“You’ve had a long trip,” she told him.  “Go back to bed.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’d rather see you now, if you don’t mind,” he told her, coming the rest of the way down the short stairs.  They were both dressed for sleeping, her in a simple, long nightgown and him in a sleeveless tunic and comfortable linen leggings.  “You seem stressed.  Is your back hurting you?”

“When isn’t it?” she asked, ruefully.  “And my legs, and my feet.”

“Sit, and I’ll rub your feet, at least, if you like.”  Her eyes widened slightly; the idea that she could get some relief from the pain was something that hadn’t occurred to her until now. 

“Maker, _yes_!” she said, her face growing a smile, and Anders laughed and shook his head at the excited look.  They settled onto the sofa and Anders pulled her feet into his lap, gently rubbing first the left, then then right one.  His thumbs rubbed carefully over the arch, and the palm of his hand massaged the back heel of her feet hard.  It was _wonderful_.

“I hope nothing happened to him,” Hawke murmured.

“He probably found company for the night,” Anders said, and Hawke started at that.  “You mean… Hawke, he’s a grown man.  If he’s not made up his mind about you by now, he’s not going to, regardless of whose child is in there.”  She looked away from him, biting down on the corner of her lip.  “I don’t tell you this to hurt you, but it’s been three months since he’s been told the news, Hawke.  Most men make up their minds by now.”

“Then why is he insisting on staying here?  You know how he is,” Hawke argued, and it was Anders’s turn to shake his head and look away.

“I dislike Fenris, but even I have to admit he’s loyal in his own way.  I agree with the notion that you need a man here, Hawke.  Two women alone are too much of an easy target, and I’m certain his presence has kept something bad from happening to you or Orana.  If he weren’t here, I’d want to be here.  I’d even risk Carver being here, hoping his being your brother would outweigh his dedication to the Templars in this matter.  And perhaps he feels responsible enough to watch over you and care for you in his own way, even if he doesn’t want to be with you.”

Hawke closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her.  What if he was right?  All she and Fenris did most of the time was fight.  He didn’t seem to care about her, beyond their regular friendship, and even that was strained, now.  She was waiting for something that wouldn’t happen.  She was fooling herself.

“Anders…” she said, sitting up slightly and pulling her feet out of his lap.  “I’m…” she sighed, a heaving, shuddering thing that was bordering on tears.  “I don’t want to be alone in this,” she admitted, finally, her voice small, strained and distant.

“You’re not, Marian,” he told her, and then gathered her in his arms and pulled her onto his lap, his lips finding hers in the darkness.  He tasted of magic and elfroot and lyrium and Hawke felt herself melting into his embrace, her arms snaking around him.  Anders moved one hand to rest on her bottom and the other up to cup her cheek, to tilt her head just so, his lips tracing down the line of her jaw to her neck, where he suckled on her skin gently.  Hawke sighed, which turned into a moan as the hand moved from her jaw to cup her breast through the thin fabric of her nightgown, his thumb rubbing gently over the hardening nipple.

She felt herself responding fiercely and ran her fingers through his loose hair, across his face, over the stubble he always wore on his cheeks.  “Anders,” she whispered, and was rewarded with an eager sound from the man.

“I want you,” he said, his voice husky and thick with desire.  “Let me show you, Marian.  You don’t have to be alone.”

“Yes,” she replied.  She _didn’t_ want to be alone anymore.  Gently, Anders pushed her off his lap, standing her up, and then took her hands and led her up to the small room he was sharing with Fenris during the duration of his stay.  He closed the door and turned the small bolt lock on it, to keep prying eyes out. 

“If he comes home, he can sleep on the sofa,” Anders said, a quiet laugh on his lips.”  Hawke stood, nervous, as she was her first time, and Anders ran his hands down her arms before gathering her up against him and kissing her firmly enough to make her shiver and cause heat to pool between her legs.  He tugged his sleeping tunic up over his head and tossed it to the floor.

Gently, Anders urged her back towards the cot that was his bed, pulling up the length of her nightgown.  Hawke helped as best she could, and soon the thin cotton was discarded on the floor and she sat there, shivering slightly, in only her plain smalls.

“You’re even more beautiful than I had dreamed,” Anders whispered, nuzzling between her breasts.  His hand dipped down to her hip and he tugged at the plain linen there, and Hawke raised up as he slid them down her thighs, to be discarded atop her nightgown.  “Lie back,” he said, trailing kisses down further, over the swell of her stomach, placing them open-mouthed atop her thighs as his hands spread her legs apart and he rested between them. 

Hawke fisted the quilt that lay beneath her in her hands when Anders’s mouth met her sex, and she gasped sharply.  She was so _ready_.  His tongue swirled along her sensitive little nub and his fingers eagerly tickled along her entrance while she arched her hips up, digging her heels into the cot and causing it to shake and shift slightly.  She could see him look up at her in the scant, dying candlelight, a smile playing on his lips, before he dove back in, pressing his entire mouth against the length of her slit.  Her breathing started to get harsher, and harder to catch, and Hawke felt her heart begin racing.  A sort of tightness formed, low, where her womb rested, and then Anders inserted first one finger, then two inside of her, making appreciative noises about how wet and ready she was already.

“Anders,” she warned, her voice low and full of need, and then she was gasping sharply and squeezing her eyes shut, moving her hands to his hair and gently pulling and pushing his head.  Waves ran through her, of tension and release, and she cried out, keening his name sharply, forgetting to be quiet enough so as not to disturb Orana, or be heard outside the house.  Anders held her hip down with one hand, the other working inside of her, fingers crooked just slightly, until her tremors stilled.  He licked his lips and smiled again, a wicked smile, and kissed back up her body before the shocks in her womb had completely settled.

“That was quick,” he laughed gently, nipping at her collarbone.  “Perhaps I can hear you sing again, before the night is through?”

“You aren’t…?”

“I _am_ ,” he assured her, and tugged off the light linen pants he was wearing, tossing them somewhere close to the pile of her own clothes.  She could feel his arousal pressing against her thigh, and he shifted, just slightly, so that he was pressing against the tight thatch of now strawberry-blonde curls over her mound.  “I am, my love,” he promised her, again.  He sat back enough to hook one knee over his arm and wrap the other leg around his waist, then positioned himself at her entrance and slowly, agonizingly slowly, entered her, his eyes staring into hers and shining with something distinctly not sadness any longer, even in the faint light.

Gently, slowly, he set a rhythm, sliding out of her, pausing for a moment and taking a deep breath before thrusting back inside.  His mouth was all over her: her mouth, her throat, her breasts, everywhere he could reach, and his fingers dug into the still-pale flesh of her thigh and her hip.  Not hard enough to leave bruises, but enough to leave temporary marks.  Several long moments passed that way, with him making noises that were slightly more urgent, and Hawke making sounds that were pleased and fulfilled, her nails digging down his back, and caressing over his lightly-furred chest.  He was so different from Fenris, in build and technique; her lovemaking with Fenris had been quick and urgent and nearly rough, and it had been fulfilling in its own way, but this with Anders… He _loved_ her.  He loved Hawke and he wasn’t ashamed to let the world know, wasn’t afraid of his own feelings. 

Anders moved to her ear, gently nipping along the lobe, before his breath caught sharply and his fingers dug into her more roughly.  “Marian, I’m going to come soon,” he said.”

“Yes,” she replied.  She did not know what else to say, so she repeated the word.  “Yes, Anders.”  He buried his head in the crook of her neck and moved the hand from her hip up her body, to pull her against him.  He shifted, not wanting to rest any of his weight on the swell of her womb, and tilted her hips up a little more sharply. 

“Marian,” he panted, and then his teeth sunk into her neck, hard enough to leave a bruise there, she was sure of it.  “ _Marian_ , I love you, _I love you_ ,” he managed, and then he groaned loudly, and pulled her to him, falling to her side and pulling her on top, thrusting up inside of her and forcing her hips down against him harshly.  Hawke gasped, holding on to his shoulders as much to keep her balance as anything; this position felt _marvelously divine_ , and she could feel his pelvic bone pushing up against her _just so_ , and then….

“Anders!” she cried out again, nails finding flesh, back arching and her knees pressing hard against his sides.  “Oh, Maker,” she moaned, grinding herself down against him, a sob of pleasure caught in her throat as she moved on him, her breasts bouncing slightly. His hands traveled up her sides from her hips and he tilted his head back, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath and slow his heart.  Hawke settled down, sliding off of him and resting her head against his chest, still feeling slight shockwaves run throughout her.  She smiled, pleased, and toyed with the fine strands of short hair on his chest.

“Marian,” Anders said, abruptly, hugging her tightly against him.  “ _Thank you_.”

“I should be thanking you,” she quipped.  “I didn’t even realize how much I needed that.”

“Any time, sweetheart,” he said, and she giggled slightly and hugged herself against him.

“Fenris…” she began, not knowing where to go with the statement.

“He can sleep on the sofa, like I said earlier,” Anders replied.  He sounded like a different man: happy, joyful even.  Something in his voice that she hadn’t heard in years, something that hadn’t lasted long at all, even then.

“He’s going to find out,” she managed.

“Let him,” came the happy reply.  “Let the whole world know that I love Marian Hawke and I will stand by her side through good or ill.”

“Anders,” Hawke said, sitting up slightly.  Her long locks obscured her face for a moment, until she brushed them away.  “You… I’m not going to put you in danger, Anders.  Being with me, puts you in danger as surely as if you marched in front of Templars.”

“Then let me stay with you at all times,” he said, rising up onto his elbows, voice full of sincerity.  “I will not leave your side for anything, I promise.  I will protect you and help you, and in turn your title and your money can keep all three of us safe.”

A start went through her, abruptly.  He was already considering them to be together, and considering her child with Fenris to be as much his responsibility as it was hers.  She shook her head slightly.  This was too much; it was too fast.  She couldn’t do this.

“I… I need to go to sleep now, Anders,” she said, cutting off abruptly what she was going to say.  “I need to sleep in my own bed, no offense.”

“Can I at least get a kiss from the sleeping beauty?”  His grin was infectious. 

“Of course,” she managed, even laughing slightly, and brushed her lips against his before sitting up on the edge of the cot, reaching for her discarded clothes.  She kissed him again, after she pulled her smalls back on, and then again after her nightgown was in place.  He met her at the door to the bedroom as she was in the process of sliding the bolt unlocked and she kissed him again, this one longer, lingering, with her fingers tangling and twining in his hair, his hands caressing her in places that causes gasps and moans enough to make her wonder if she would wind up not making it back to her shared room with Orana that night, anyway.

“Good _night_ , Anders,” she said, finally, and managed to shut the door between them before leaning back against it.  In their time together, the rain had stopped, and Hawke suddenly felt herself with a sudden and immediate urge to visit the privy.  She crept down the stairs and moved to the back door, intent on finding her flat, waterproofed leather slippers made exactly for this type of thing, when there was a dark, shadowed something that moved abruptly towards her and grasped her arm.  She gasped and drew on her mana, summing a mage light a hair after she mind blasted whoever it was who had assaulted her.

“Fenris?” she said, kneeling beside the quite obviously drunken man, where he had been knocked back.  “Maker, Fenris, I expected you back hours ago.”

“I’ve been back long enough,” he muttered, and pushed her away from him.  “I _heard_ , Hawke.  I heard you and the abomination.”  The accusation was mixed thick with drink in his voice, and it caused her to scowl sharply.

“Whatever you heard, Fenris, is none of your business,” she told him, matter-of-fact. “If you wanted me, you had months to make up your mind about that.”

“You think it’s so simple,” he slurred, holding himself up off the floor by dint of the fact that he was grabbing the sofa.  “You think it’s that easy, Hawke, but it’s not.  You’re… You’re like this light.  I can’t hold it.  I don’t _deserve_ it.”  He half-sobbed, brushing his hair out of his face, staring at her, accusing and angry.  “You have never come across something you wanted but could not have, did not deserve, Hawke.”

She sighed and slipped her feet into the shoes.  “Fenris, I need the privy.  You’re drunk.  Go to bed.”

He spat on the floor.  “I’ll not sleep in that room, with him.  Not after _that_.”

Hawke lost her temper, then.  “Then sleep in the shed with the mule.  At least it’ll have another ass to keep it company.”  She closed the door behind her, not gently, and went to do her business out in the privy, leaving Fenris behind and carrying along a stream of angry muttering with her.  When she got back inside, Fenris had drug out one of the quilts from the storage closet and was lying, already asleep, on the sofa.  Hawke took pity on him and arranged another two logs on the fire, building it back up; Fenris was obviously still wet from the rain, and there was the slightest chill in the air, heralding the fact that the fall season would soon be approaching them. 

She shouldn’t care.  She shouldn’t care that he was hurt because of her evening with Anders.  _He_ had spent it out drinking, after all, and who knows whose bed he had ended up in?  Just because she hadn’t heard any rumors to that effect from the neighbors didn’t mean it didn’t happen, right?  With yet another sigh, Hawke slipped upstairs to her own bed and huddled underneath the quilt on her bed, eventually falling asleep listening to Orana’s soft breathing and gentle snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand the smut wasn't who you thought it would be? Well, hopefully it wasn't bad, at any rate. I've got to practice writing it more.


	6. Tactile Examinations and Green, Green Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke has her five month checkup, and Fenris's green eyes turn greener, while Anders gets a little pushy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, tasting the urine of a pregnant woman was one of the ways healers and hedge doctors and what have you used to tell if a woman had gestational diabetes or any number of things. That's why Anders knows what to do; he's really a phenomenal healer and well-versed in doing whats needs doing.

The morning dawned, much to Hawke’s displeasure, and a very hungover Fenris was met with a very smug and self-satisfied Anders, and an Orana who was too timid to tell both of them to stop arguing, but was just assertive enough to remind them, in a very loud voice, that Mistress was sleeping and the two of them should take their argument outside, to the mule shed.

She skipped her usual ritual of checking her profile and her body, opting instead for a quick (and hopefully unnoticed) trip to the privy, and back upstairs to dress more properly for the day.  The dresses she had come here wearing were too small for her stomach, and she was forced into wearing those that had the most give, until Merrill’s packages of newly-made dresses arrived for her.  Clean smalls, clean stockings, clean dress.  Hair brushed and pulled back into a ponytail, and a slight bit of washing up of hands and face, mainly to wash the sleep away, completed, Hawke crept back downstairs, to find that Anders and Fenris had returned with their argument into the sitting room.

“… And you don’t know what you want,” Anders was saying, arms crossed against his chest in a most self-satisfied way.

“And you think you can give it to her?”  Fenris sneered and gestured dismissively at Anders.  “An abomination?  You have even less than I do, _mage_.”

“So, you’ve decided to make up your mind now that someone else has said they wanted her?  How convenient for you,” Anders declared, smirking.  Hawke leaned against the banister of the staircase, wondering if there was any way she could slip down without being noticed entirely.

“Hawke is in no position to be making choices this important,” Fenris argued.  “A woman, this far along with child?  You haven’t been around her I have, abomination.  Her emotions are hardly her own, right now.”  She felt anger well up in her and forced it back down; how _dare_ Fenris accuse _her_ of having finicky emotions?!  He was hardly fit to live with at the best of times!  Now he wasn’t sure if he could say “boo!” to a goose if it meant discussing anything with her other than the evening’s meal or what they might need from the market!

“I think Hawke is perfectly fine to be making whatever decisions she wishes to make,” Anders countered.  Orana caught her eye from the kitchen area and shrugged apologetically, and Hawke simply shook her head to indicate that Orana had no blame over this mess.  If anything, it was entirely her fault, although she wasn’t going to fault herself for acting on impulses even if they _were_ driven by emotions.  Even in the glaring light of day, Hawke wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have done what she did last night.  She _had_ wanted Anders, and wanted a connection with someone, anyone, and it wasn’t something she was going to regret, no matter how Fenris tried to push her into it.  The fact of the matter was, she would have shared a bed with Fenris, or abstained all together, if Fenris had made even the slightest mention of interest in her.  Whether the elf liked it or not, she was _not_ his property, and it was his own decision, or, rather, indecision, that kept it that way.

“You only think such a thing because it benefits you,” Fenris growled.  “Would you be saying the same thing if it was my bed she had shared last night, instead of your own?”  Anders spluttered at that, face going pale, and it was Fenris’s turn to look smug.  “Besides, _mage_ , you will leave and go back to Kirkwall, and I will remain here.  Then we will see whether or not she stays for your bed alone.”

“That is _enough_ ,” Hawke roared at the two men.  Orana blanched and shrunk back against the standing washbasin in the kitchen, and Hawke mentally apologized to her and vowed to herself she’d make it up later.  “I am no one’s property and no one’s territory,” she told both men, coming down the stairs with a slightly stronger gait than normal, veritably stamping her feet. 

“Of course you aren’t, Hawke,” Anders began, at the same time Fenris said, “No one said you were, Hawke.”  She held up a hand for silence, which neither of the men wanted to give, but both of them eventually did.

“As I said, I am no one’s property.  Anders, you’re a guest here, no matter what, so act like it.”  She turned to Fenris, hands on hips.  “Fenris, you’ve stated many times that we can’t blow our cover here, yet you’re shouting loud enough for the neighbors to hear.  I don’t like this ‘servant’ disguise any more than the rest of us do, but if you’re going to play the part and not give me away, you should at least try to not antagonize my ‘brother,’ is that clear?”

“As crystal,” Fenris muttered, not daring to meet her gaze.

“Hawke,” Anders said, butting into Fenris’s moment.  “I apologize for the argument— “

“Don’t tell me you didn’t start it, Anders.  I don’t want to hear it, regardless of whether or not it’s true,” she said.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  “All I want right now is breakfast, and if you two aren’t going to magically turn into whatever it is Orana was making, you can bloody well go to the void, do you both understand me?”

“Yes, Hawke.”

“Yes, Hawke,” came dual mutters, in matching sullen tones.

“Very well.  Fenris, I want you to go fill up water.  Anders, I want you to go out to the apple trees and see if there’s anything worth picking out there.  I doubt there is, but look anyway.”

“I’m not leaving you here with _him_ ,” Fenris told her, taking a step towards where Hawke was standing, but she simply held up her hand to him.

“ _Go_ , Fenris.  We have to keep the ruse up and with having Anders here as a guest, we’d be needing extra water, anyway.” 

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum_ ,” he said, spitting it like a curse, but he elbowed past where Anders was standing, anyway, hopefully to pick up the large bucket and go to the main well in the center of the town.

Hawke turned to Anders, who, under her stern and unhappy gaze, was suddenly wilting quickly.  “Anders….”

“I wasn’t the one who started it, I swear, Marian,” he said, holding up his hands innocently.  Hawke arched an eyebrow and jerked her head towards Orana. 

“Don’t forget that you two have a witness, Anders.  If you started it, she’ll tell me everything.”

“I really didn’t.  It was Fenris.  He woke up hungover and the minute he saw me, he laid into me.”

“It is true, Mistress,” Orana said, trying to keep her voice small.  “Messere Anders did nothing, but Messere Fenris was very angry with him.”  Hawke rubbed at her temples and tried to will the headache that was forming behind her eyes to go away.

“I’m afraid Messere Fenris is not going to be fit to live with until Messere Anders leaves, Orana,” Hawke said.  “And I apologize to you in advance for that.  This is not something you, of all people, should have to put up with.”  She darted her gaze over to Anders, who was still seemingly wilted.  “Anders, try to not argue with him.  For my sake?”

“That depends on if you’re going to kiss me again,” Anders said, causing Orana to gasp and drop the cup she was cleaning.

“How about you not argue with him, and we’ll discuss the kissing part if you’re appropriately behaved.”

He seemed to brighten up some, at that.  “That certainly gives me impetus to be on my best behavior, then.”  He grinned, and then grinned even more broadly.  “As your Healer, I really need to see about your exam.  Tomorrow, as soon as you get up, I think.  I’ll need you to pass water into a cup for me, and not eat or drink anything after midnight tonight.”

“Are you quite serious?” 

“Oh, yes.  Remember, I told you I can tell things from the taste and smell of the urine of pregnant women.”  Hawke laughed at that, crossing one arm under her breasts. 

“And that’s why I can’t ever be as good a Healer as you are, Anders,” she said.

He simply shrugged and kept the grin on his face.  “It could be worse, you know.  At least I know how to make sure you and the babe are both healthy.  There’s also the physical exam, and we can do that whenever you’re ready.  It’s more helpful to do it both before and after a full bladder, though, so I can see if I feel any sort of changes.  After you’ve eaten, we’ll go over some of that, and when you feel you need to pee, I’ll give you a quick exam before you go, so I can compare it with after.  And we can discuss symptoms, and what you can expect.”

Orana seemed to be nodding along as if she understood exactly what Anders was talking about, but it mostly seemed a rush of words to Hawke.  “Definitely after breakfast,” she murmured to him, and he gestured to the table, grandly, where a setting for her was already laid out.  Sausage links, fresh bread, eggs, fresh cheese (and when did Orana have time to run to the Milfords to get that?!) and hot tea.  Hawke could feel her mouth start to salivate.

“And I, dear lady, will go out and pick apples, as you have so ordered me to do.”  Anders bowed extravagantly over her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles, and swept out the back door of the house.  Hawke shook her head and sat at the table to tuck in.

“Mistress, I think having Messere Anders here at the same time as Messere Fenris is a mistake,” Orana said, bluntly, and sternly for her.

“I didn’t ask Messere Fenris to stay, Orana.  In fact, I believe you heard me tell him to leave several times.”  Orana scoffed at that.

“Messere Fenris doesn’t know whether the sun rises on you or the moon sets, Mistress.  You can tell him to leave until the cows come home, but he will not budge.  And he sees Messere Anders as a threat to his position with you.”

“Smart girl,” Hawke muttered to herself, sweetening the hot tea just so and stirring it with a long-handled, yet dainty, spoon.  Louder, she said, “I can’t help if they’re going to fight over me.  They’ll find I’m no prize to be won, by either of them.”  Orana simply made a clicking sound with her tongue.  “You disagree?”

“I can neither agree nor disagree, Mistress.  I have little experience with men, except what I observed at Mist- at Hadriana’s, and Master Danarius’s manors.  I was mainly told to stay out of sight, by Papa, but I saw what I saw, and the more a lady protested she didn’t want the attention, the more she got it.  Mist—I mean, Hadriana, had a number of suitors.”

“That vile thing?”  It was Hawke’s turn to scoff, now.

“She was not always as you saw her.  She was kind, sometimes, and she was the apprentice of a powerful magister.  Many sought her hand in marriage.”

Hawke spread a pat of butter onto the broken halves of the bread.  “None of them were me.  As I said, I am no prize to be won.  If either of them want to court me, they’re welcome to it, but I will not sit myself on a shelf and let them fight over me.”

Abruptly, Orana giggled.  “But it must be nice, having two such handsome men interested in you.” 

Hawke grinned at the woman.  “I _knew_ you fancied Fenris!” she exclaimed, laughing with glee.

Orana blushed prettily.  “I remember him, a little, from when I was a small girl.  He was always tall and handsome even then, and a great warrior.”

Hawke chuckled and took a bite out of a sausage link, chewing thoughtfully.  “Perhaps I should be jealous of you.”

“Oh _no_ , Mistress!” Orana said, breathlessly.  “Never, I swear!”

“Orana, I’m kidding.  It’s a joke, it’s okay.  You’re a pretty young lady who deserves a suitor of her own, after all.”

“I… Yes, Mistress.  But not Messere Fenris!”

“No, I suppose not,” Hawke replied, somewhat ruefully.  “He is a gentle man, and shy in his way, but I think there is too much to him that you would have to contend with, and it would not be fair to you.”

“As you say, Mistress,” Orana replied, nodding and using a dry rag to wipe off the water from a plate. 

“We won’t be here forever,” Hawke reminded her.  “When we get back to Kirkwall, if you truly wish, I can help you find someone to walk out with.”

“Oh!  But, who would do the cooking?” Orana asked, fretfully.  “And the cleaning?  And help with the babe?”  It all came out in a rush.

“Orana!  It’s okay, don’t panic.  You can still work for me, if you wish.  And if we find a nice enough young gentleman, he could work for me, too.  Bodahn is getting up there in years, after all, and I don’t want to stress him any more than he already is.”  It was slightly uncomfortable, discussing the idea of taking on Orana’s future boyfriend as an employee in her household, but it had taken them several months to get past the fact that Orana was _no longer a slave and shouldn’t consider herself as one_ that Hawke had to sometimes temper what she said to the young woman. 

Suddenly, Hawke felt _movement_ in her stomach.  It was the oddest feeling, fluttering, like something pushing, but something very, very small, and she gasped and touched her fingertips to her stomach.  “Orana!  Get Anders!”  Panic flooded her; what was this?!  She stood and began pacing small steps, pressing further into her stomach to try to feel it again, to detect what it was.  She tapped into her mana, even, delving. _What was that?_

“Hawke, what’s wrong?” Anders asked, rushing in after Orana fetched him.  She explained what it was –pushing, touching, moving—and Anders simply laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  “I’ll examine you, if you wish, but that was the babe moving.  Have you not felt it before?”

“I thought so,” she said, eyes wide.  “It's not been like this before!  I've felt some fluttering, but this was… too….”  He nodded and brushed his knuckles against her cheek.

“You take a good deal of honey in your tea,” he said, and when she tried to protest, he laughed it off.  “You can’t fool me, Hawke, I’ve broken my fast with you too many times!”  He pressed the palm of his hand against her belly and she could feel his magic touch her.  “Just as I suspected.  Healthy, and about five months.  It was just movement.  Babies tend to move more after the mother has eaten or drank something sweet, or even after they’ve just eaten anything.  The little Hawkeling was just excited that mommy was eating, that’s all.” 

“Oh, Anders, thank you,” she breathed, and threw her arms around his shoulders, hugging herself close.  He chuckled and slipped his arms around her to hold her against him tightly in an embrace. 

“Any time, Hawke.  Perhaps you should keep me around, so I can assuage your fears when you have them?  Few people can say they’ve got an actual Healer on beck and call during their pregnancy.”

But Hawke shook her head.  “You know those people need you, Anders, more than me.”  She let go of him and stepped back.

“It was worth a try,” he joked.  “Now… you finish eating and I’ll finish picking the few apples I’ve found on there, and then we’ll do your exam.  Sound fair?  Make sure to have another cup of tea,” he reminded.  “The more tea you have, the fuller your bladder will be, and the better I can check you and compare.

“Yes, Healer,” she quipped, and settled back down to her breakfast.  Moving babies; who knew? 

* * *

 

By the time Fenris got back from fetching the water and cooling his own head, Hawke felt like her bladder was just about going to burst.  However, despite Anders’s admonitions to go ahead and get the exam over with, she refused to start without him, though it was a near thing between getting the pre-emptied bladder exam and an accident.

The exam was the same type as the one she had done with Anders, before, and Fenris was as irritable and distrusting this time as he was last, perhaps even more so, since her activities the previous night with the Healer.  However, he refused to be thrown out of the room this time and stood, glaring, not looking at Hawke, as Anders felt her breasts for changes and did the pelvic exams with a practiced and professional air.

“Everything feels good, Hawke,” Anders said.  “Your baby seems to be growing fine, although I would like to see you gaining more weight.  I’ll see tomorrow whether your water is too sweet, but from the way things are going, you’re not losing weight and you’re not gaining too quickly, so I’m going to assume that even that will be fine.”

“Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl yet?” Hawke asked, already knowing the answer but asking the question for Fenris’s sake.  She was irritated with the man, but he knew next to nothing about childbirth, and since he _was_ making an effort to be there, she thought she would cut him a little bit of slack.  This may be his only child, and the only time he got to experience a pregnancy he could claim as his own child, after all, the same as it could be her only pregnancy. 

Anders gave her a pointed look, as if he knew what game she was playing, and rolled his eyes slightly.  “I couldn’t even tell that much with magic, Hawke.  Although I am able to tell you there is only one babe in there; twins usually run in families, and I know that your siblings are –were—twins, but you’ve only got the one.”

“Have you dealt with many elf-blooded children before?” she queried, a genuine question there.  “How is it for the births?  I have heard that full-blooded elves go ten months, not nine.”

“It depends,” Anders said.  “Even some human women go ten months.  It’s up to the babe to decide when to come out, not mother, although if it goes too long, I know some things that might help speed up labor.  But most of the babies I’ve delivered have been either human or elf, not a mixture of both.  And I know Fenris has no memories to draw from, and even less experience with such things than you do, so I’m afraid he won’t be of much help, either.”

“You say that like it’s a defect, mage,” Fenris muttered, but Anders held up a hand.

“No, I say that like a Healer.  The babe is half yours, too, but if you had memories of your mother, perhaps she would have told you if your birth was difficult, or if you have siblings, if theirs were.  You could be a twin, or your parents, or any number of things that would affect Hawke in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.”  Fenris said nothing to that, merely shuffled his feet and kept his head down, plucking at his tunic fitfully. 

“Well, I heard about my birth enough from my Mother to know all about it,” Hawke joked, to lessen the tension in the room.  “I was the stubbornest baby in all of Thedas, according to her, only topped by Bethany, and her only topped by Carver.”

“I can believe it, with Carver,” Anders replied.  “He’s one stubborn man, that’s for certain.”

“I have difficulty believing that Bethany was half as stubborn as either you or Carver, Hawke,” Fenris said, softly.

“You’d have liked Bethany, Fenris.  Even though she was a mage, she was the best of us.  A lot like me, except her jokes weren’t as good.”

“You have no idea how lucky you were, Hawke, growing up in a normal household and being a mage.  Very few of us get to do that,” Anders said, and at that, Fenris stiffened.

“If you’re going to go into discussions about mage rights and not talk about the pregnancy anymore, there are other things I can be doing,” Fenris said, in a near growl.

“ _Is_ there anything else?”  Hawke asked Anders, but gently, to lessen the sting of Fenris’s words.

“Actually, we can discuss any of the symptoms you’re having, and talk about things to expect.  If I’m truly going back to Kirkwall in a few days, as planned, then you’ll need to know what to watch out for.  You can always reach me by letter, if needed, but those will take a few days, as we saw with the letters that arrived with me.”

Fenris relaxed back against the wall as talk turned to the symptoms Hawke was currently experiencing –swollen feet; aching legs, back, breasts; frequent headaches; dreams, which she skirted around the topics of as best she could, considering the company; slight forgetfulness in things; some mild food cravings, and an increased appetite; fatigue, and a need for naps that was stronger than the need she had experienced back in Kirkwall, before she was sure she was pregnant—and symptoms she was likely to continue experiencing, and a few things to do for them.

Anders encouraged her to take as many naps as needed, and to enjoy eating the fresh fruits and vegetables that were plentiful around the little town this time of year.  He also encouraged her to get as much exercise as she felt like, and then a little more, including long walks around the town, but always with an escort, and always resting when she felt she needed to.  Additionally, he warned that her magic might be a little bit precarious right now, a sort of balance for the worse of the symptoms evening out, and told her that she should probably stick most with just using her magic for mage lights, heating water, creating water, and the like.  Easy things she could do with her eyes closed and half asleep, in other words. 

“Also,” Anders told her.  “It’s a good idea for you to read out loud to the babe.  Believe it or not, babies in the womb can recognize their mother’s voice, and if you read to them, it’s believed the babe will be smarter when it grows up.”

“You mean they can hear in there?  Everything?”  The immediate flush of red on her cheeks certainly told the others what she was talking about, and Anders laughed while Fenris growled.

“They hear enough, but they don’t understand it.  Just read out loud.  That should be good enough.  And it doesn’t matter what; the fact that you’re reading and talking is what’s important.”  He glanced towards Fenris.  “You might want to, as well, if you don’t find it too ridiculous.”

“What I find ridiculous is none of your business, abomination,” Fenris said, and Hawke flopped back on her bed in exasperation.

“Will you please stop fighting with Anders, Fenris?  Just for a single day?  You’re causing me stress and that’s bad for the baby.”

“I… apologize,” Fenris said, although to whom it wasn’t apparently, and then he stalked his way out of the bedroom abruptly.  Hawke sighed and pulled her pillow over her head and blew a huff of air up into it, kicking her feet like a child.

“You two….”

“As you could see, it’s usually him starting the fights,” Anders said.

“Oh, you start your own share, Healer,” Hawke scolded.

“Guilty as charged.  But I know when I’m beaten, and he doesn’t.  And your house, your rules, Hawke,” Anders told her.  “I am just a humble guest in your abode.”  She felt the edge of her bed sink down slightly as Anders sat next to her, and then a gentle hand caress over one hip.  “Hawke, about last night…”

She groaned slightly, but quietly.  “What about last night?” she asked, taking the pillow off her head and knowing she was going to regret it.

“Last night was the best night I’ve ever had in my life, Hawke.  I know you felt it, too.  I was hoping you had some time to think on what I said.”

“What, a whole night and a morning full of arguing and stuffing myself with tea?” 

Anders laughed a little bit and touched her cheek with his fingertips.  “You know what I mean, Hawke.”

“Don’t you think this is too soon, Anders?” she asked, sitting up and leaning back on her elbows.  “Don’t you think that maybe you should be the one thinking twice before getting involved with a woman who’s about to have another man’s child?  The Champion of Kirkwall, no less?”

“Hawke, I have loved you for years.  Since you went into the Deep Roads, for certain.  I feared for you like I feared for no other, and although I never wanted to step near the blighted Deep Roads ever again, while you were gone I wanted nothing more than for you to have taken me with you, so I could stay by your side.”

“Then perhaps this is too soon for me.  If you love me like you claim, you’ll give me time to get used to the idea.”  His eyes went back to the ones that were full of sadness, and she sighed and sat up fully, slipping her arms around his chest and resting her head against him.  “Anders, I just need time.  Maybe Fenris was right, and I should try to make decisions when I’m less needy and emotional.”

He laughed fully then and stroked a hand over her hair.  “Sweetheart, if you think you’re needy and emotional now, just wait until the baby comes.  There’s a thing called ‘baby blues’ that most new mothers get.  You might find yourself with even wilder mood swings than the past few months, especially in feeling sad and alone.  You’ll want someone even more then, and you might make even worse decisions in partners simply so you wouldn’t be alone.  You could wind up engaged to Seneschal Bran’s son!” 

Hawke made a face and laughed.  “That would truly be the worst decision of my lifetime, bar none,” she agreed.  “But I am going nowhere for now, Anders.  Let’s just see how things progress, maybe?”

“If you need time, you have time, Hawke.  Anything for you.”  He tilted his head down and brushed his lips first against her forehead and then both cheeks, before seeking out her mouth, his tongue flickering lightly over lips.  Hawke parted those lips, seeking his tongue with her own, and Anders urged her, very gently, back down on the bed, caressing a hand down her waist and over her hip. 

Abruptly, Hawke laughed, and gently pushed him away with both hands on his chest.  “This is giving me time?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“I never said I’d leave you alone while giving you time,” he told her, and abruptly the caressing hand became a tickling one.   “I have to talk you into being mine somehow, right?  What better way than to demonstrate my prowess as a lover!”

“Maker, Anders!” she gasped, wiggling under the offending hands.  “Anders, I’m gonna pee if you don’t stop!” she said, between giggling laughter, and abruptly he stopped. 

“That’s not a threat a pregnant woman makes lightly,” he said, and _he_ sounded light, and happy.

“It’s a serious one,” she told him, using him to pull herself up to sitting again and swinging her legs off the bed.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”  She got to her feet and tromped quickly down the steps, noting that Orana was on the sofa knitting and that the water bucket was missing again, and rushed into the privy shed, only to run face-first into a Fenris who was, apparently, taking a bath.

A naked Fenris, in a tub full of water. 

Oh _no_.

“Fenris I have to pee can you please please….”

“ _Fasta vass,_ Hawke, can it not wait?”

“No, it can’t, Anders was tickling me, and— “

“ _Venhedis_.  Hand me my towel,” he gestured, and she flung the towel at him while trying her best to keep her knees together.  “Turn to the wall, _Mary_ ,” Fenris said, irritated, and as she turned, there were sloshing sounds from the copper tub as Fenris obviously got to his feet and wrapped the towel around himself.  The door to the bathhouse opened, then closed loudly, and Hawke took a quick look around before she saw to her business with a very high level of relief.

“Sorry,” she muttered to Fenris, who was leaned against the door and scowling when she emerged a few minutes later.  “You knew the job was going to be rough when you took it.”

“I never knew ‘the job’ would wind up getting me out of my bath so often,” he complained.

“Perhaps I’m just hoping for a glance of your firm posterior,” she said, laughing, and Fenris flushed fiercely under his dark skin, even to the tips of his ears, even down his bare chest, causing even more laughter. 

“ _Vishante kaffas_ ,” he said, and Hawke was pleased that she was picking up new cursing vocabulary from him.  If only she knew what the words _meant_.  “If you are done, I will finish my bath.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” she asked, politely.

“Help the abomination,” Fenris said, dismissively, and then pushed his way back into little shed.  Touchy _and_ jealous. 

“I’d have helped you if you asked,” she called to him, but he didn’t answer her.  Hawke wondered if the jealousy was simply sharply there because Anders was present and making an obvious bid for Hawke’s affections, or because Fenris was genuinely interested in her and was unsure of how to show it. 

If she had to admit it, at least to herself, she would choose Fenris over Anders.  Assuming, of course, that she was actually given the choice.  Anders wasn’t a bad man, but the fact that he was possessed by the spirit of Justice was, she had to admit, something of a turnoff in the romance department, and, after all, she was already carrying Fenris’s child.  No matter what, her life and Fenris’s life were always going to be linked together, because of their child, unless Fenris decided he wanted nothing to do with either of them.  Given his stated stance on the importance of family, and how much he enjoyed having his friends around him, even if he didn’t seem to realize they _were_ his friends, the thought of him leaving her and the babe to their own devices was rather silly indeed.

Shaking her head, realizing she would get no further answers then, Hawke went into the little garden and stood there, more for an excuse to put off going back into the house and talking with anyone than for any real necessity.  With her and Orana both working on keeping the weeds and pests back, the little garden was flourishing; it had obviously been well-tended before they moved in, and had only needed a little tender, loving care to get it back in tip-top condition. 

One easy way to avoid talking to anyone in the household would be a trip out to the market.  The weather was lovely, and it was still early enough that she might find the small bakery open.  She could get some sweetcakes, perhaps, or some cookies, as a special surprise for the others.  Perhaps a bottle of wine; she couldn’t drink it, of course, but the others could, and perhaps having wine here meant Fenris would be less likely to go spend his coin at the small tavern and risk spilling secrets.  Not that it was a large risk, mind, what with how close-mouthed he was about most things, but still.  It could be seen as a sort of peace overture between the two of them.  He had, after all, risked a lot to be out here with them, including the risk of going back to Kirkwall and finding that horribly ruined, dilapidated mansion had been seized by the Seneschal, after all.  Of course, that was pretty much a daily concern for him, anyway, whether they were in Kirkwall or not, but even so, he relied on the coin that Hawke paid him for jobs done to purchase whatever he needed, and as there were no jobs out in Grunding, and no fighting or mercenary work, Fenris was, obviously, not earning anything of a salary there.  She wondered if she should offer to pay him a stipend; perhaps that would ease some of the discomfort he seemed to have.  After all, she paid Orana, and he was doing work the same as the other woman.  Having his own money might make him easier to live with.

With a few things resolved, at least in her own mind, Hawke moved into the house to put on her boots and get her shopping basket ready, telling Orana she would be out and about and back in a little while, whistling a little tune as she went into town.


	7. Hawke Has Some Romantic Confusions, Or Is That Just Lust?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke wants Anders. Maybe. She thinks. And then she doesn't, because she can't make up her mind.

The majority of the day, once Hawke returned from her impromptu shopping trip, was spent with Anders on the sofa, Hawke attempting her best at knitting tiny little baby socks, Anders helpfully holding the yarn for her and, every now and then, touching her belly and making funny sounds at it, or talking to it in silly voices.  Orana cooed when he did that, and even Hawke felt it was rather endearing.  It was certainly a measured difference from the actual father of the child inside; other than the one time he had hesitantly asked to feel her belly, Fenris had barely even looked at it, almost as if he were afraid of the thing. 

Fenris chose to not eat with the rest of them, opting instead to spend the evening at the tavern again.  Hawke was absolutely certain this was his way of ensuring peace while Anders was still around, and she had to give him credit for avoiding fighting with the other man in a creative means.  Anders, meanwhile, took the rest of the evening to positively spoil Hawke, regaling her with tales from his days in the Wardens, and explaining what life was like in the Tower, but trying to hit only the good, happy points; Hawke told him she absolutely did not want any lectures on mage rights during his visits, and Anders was sticking to the word and spirit both of her request. 

“Anders,” Hawke said, after dinner had been finished and the washing up done.  “You must remember to tell Merrill she has to come visit.  And if she needs protection, don’t hesitate to ask for it.  If I have to, I’ll send Fenris out there to escort her; we know she’ll get here safely, then, for certain.”

“I don’t even see why you _want_ Merrill to come.  It’s not like you want to teach the baby blood magic,” Anders said, his tone scolding.  Hawke scoffed at that.

“The worst thing that Merrill will do is cook me something that tastes awful, and you know it.”

“I do not,” Anders replied, stiffly.  “I just worry about you, is all.  Are you certain that you don’t want me to stay with you?  The clinic can do without me for a few months, at least.”

“You and Fenris under the same roof for another four months, fighting over me?”  She snorted, a very un-ladylike sound coming from her.  “No, thank you.”

“He could always leave.  Go back to Kirkwall, and leave me here.  I’m perfectly capable of protecting two women on my own.”

“If he goes to Kirkwall, what would happen if Danarius showed up?”  She shook her head, unable to believe she didn’t see it before.  Perhaps that was the real reason that Fenris stayed so close to her; he feared his old master, and he knew Hawke would not let Danarius have him?  “No, Fenris will be better off here, and the two of you can’t be cooped up in the same house for four months plus, Anders.”

“He’ll have to deal with it for at least the last month, you know,” he told Hawke sternly.  “He’ll have to grow up and learn to play nice with others.  Once you get into your ninth month, if the babe hasn’t shown by then, it’s really a guessing game, and I’m certainly not going to have time to wait on any messages from Grunding to reach Kirkwall before I’m needed to deliver the baby.”

Hawke’s mouth made an O of surprise.  “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted.  “Do you think I need another room put on the house?  I’m certain we can build on another room here.  Just a small one, something suitable for you to stay in.”

“I’d rather stay with you,” he laughed.  “It’s a small bed, but I’ve slept in worse conditions.  The company would be good, at any rate.”  She couldn’t help the flush that came over her cheeks, or the sudden warmth that grew in her belly at his words. 

“But where would Orana sleep?  See?  I’ll need another room, regardless,” she said, stalling.

“I see your point,” he told her, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.  “We can’t ask Orana to sleep in the same room as Fenris; it wouldn’t be polite, I know, I know.”

“Then I will simply have to hire on someone to build me an additional room, down here,” she said, the matter settled.  “I will have Fenris see to it; they’re less likely to cheat a man, especially one that looks as intimidating as he does.”

“You’ll be happier downstairs, anyway, especially in the upcoming months,” Anders assured her.  “You’ll only need to increase your trips to the privy, and towards the end you’ll be cursing that elf for even looking at you, you’ll be going so often.”

“You’re teasing me horribly,” Hawke told him, poking him lightly with one of her knitting needles.  “Next you’ll be telling me to get a cat, and to wear feathered pauldrons.” 

“Perish the thought, dear lady!” he said, laughing.   “You could use a cat or two around, though.  They’re always good at keeping mice away, at the very least, and extra good at keeping your feet warm when it gets cold.”

“Anders….”

“ _Mary_ ….”

She rolled her eyes theatrically and stuck her tongue out at him.  “If a couple of cats were to turn up, I’d not turn them away.  I’d even make sure they had food and water,” she conceded, and Anders smiled triumphantly.

“The Milfords had a litter, Mistress,” Orana said, as she passed into the sitting room from the bathing shed outside.  “They’re nigh on getting old enough to be weaned.”  Hawke shot Orana an accusatory look, which Orana returned with a bland smile; the girl was fond of cats, even if Hawke wasn’t so much.

“We’ll go over tomorrow, then,” she said, resigned.  “And pick out a couple of them.  Boys; I won’t be having with them dropping babies everywhere like Champions.”

“As you say, Mistress,” Orana replied, the bland smile turning bright.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll retire for the evening.  If you need anything, please wake me.”

“I’ll be fine, Orana,” she promised.  “You need the sleep.  I think I’ll wait up and see if Fenris is going to return at a decent hour.  I hate the idea of him stumbling in, drunk, again.”

Orana made a noncommittal sound before ascending the stairs, and Anders was silent for once, seemingly intent on watching her knit.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him, after the silence had stretched on for too long to be comfortable.

“I’ll miss you, when I go back.  I realize it will only be about three weeks between visits, including the travel time, but I didn’t realize how much I missed having you in Kirkwall.  I didn’t tell you before, but the Templars have been sniffing around the clinic.  I’m afraid they know about where to find me.”

Hawke was alarmed at that bit of information.  “And you didn’t tell me sooner?  Maker, Anders!  You’re simply going to have to stay at the estate.  Bodahn and Sandal know you, and I’ll give you my key and a note to give to Bodahn, if needed.  You’re welcome to either of the guest rooms, and you can go through the cellar entrance if you need.  Just ask Bodahn for that key; I don’t have that one with me.  I’ll get a copy made, or perhaps new locks installed on there once we get back.  Or I’ll have Bodahn do it; that would probably be best.

“You would have me live at your estate?” Anders asked, and suddenly Hawke felt like there was a deeper meaning to the question.

“Anders, I’d do whatever I could to keep you safe.  If that means you live at the estate with me, so be it.  I’ve got plenty of room, after all.  The two guest rooms, and Mother’s old room, and Carver’s. Maker, I don’t even need to keep Mother’s room like it is, anymore; I was thinking of using it as the nursery, since it’s so close to my room.”

He reached over and squeezed her hand lightly.  “I’ll protect you, Hawke.  And you’ll protect me.”

“Of course,” she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. 

“I was hoping,” he said, almost shyly.  “Since tomorrow will be my last day here for a while… Perhaps we could…”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, and looked away from him abruptly.  “Share…a bed, you mean?”

“Well, Fenris won’t be using his,” he offered, but Hawke shook her head roughly. 

“I won’t, not on his bed.  It’s not right and you know it.”

“Well, my cot is available.  I’d be happy to scoot over and make enough room, if you’d care to share it with me tonight, Marian.” 

Now it was her turn to be shy.  “I… I don’t know, Anders.  Maybe we shouldn’t have, last night….”

“Don’t tell me you think it was a mistake.  You wanted it as much as I did,” he said, voice low and urgent and begging her to not push him away.

“I just don’t know,” she repeated, and she didn’t know.

“How can I convince you if you won’t trust me?” he asked, placing a hand lightly on her upper arm.  “Besides, it’s good for the baby.”

Hawke laughed abruptly, shocked by the loud sound in the otherwise quiet sitting room.  “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on,” she said.

“I’m serious, though!  It is!  And it will help you not feel as stressed,” he assured her, his hand creeping up to cup her chin, his body moving over to press against hers.  “I’ll understand if you say no,” he said, his thumb gently rubbing from her mouth to her ear, his fingers curling around her neck.  “But I don’t want you to.  I want you, Marian,” he said, and then his mouth was on hers again.

Hawke felt like she was drowning, in above her head in something she didn’t quite understand.  Why did she desire Anders when she _knew_ she loved Fenris?  She pulled back away from him slightly and looked into his eyes, looked for any hint that Anders was taking advantage of her, but all she saw looking back at her was a light sort of happiness coupled with desire.  Desire for her, and no questions about what he wanted, about where he wanted to be. 

“I...” she started, and bit her lip slightly, her knitting dropping to the floor and forgotten as Anders gathered her into his arms and kissed her again, his tongue tasting her lips, teasing her tongue.  He was a good kisser, she had to give him that much.  She didn’t have that large of a range for comparison, but he was certainly better than any of those inexperienced farm boys back in Lothering, and better than Fenris, equally inexperienced.

His hands pushed up the hem of her dress, up above her knees, and his right hand crept up the outside of her thigh to caress over her hip under the plain spun fabric.  It seemed that he was determined to finish what he had started earlier that afternoon, and Hawke wasn’t sure if she wanted to let him or needed to stop him right then.  He sighed and pulled away from her slightly, kept his eyes on her face.

“Listen, Marian.  We don’t have to if you don’t want to.  But I _know_ you want to.  All I ask is that you give me one more evening.  After tomorrow, I’ll be gone for a month, and you can think on what we’ve had here the last few days, and when I come back, if you don’t want more than friendship, I’ll understand.”  He brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek.  “You will at least be friends with me, right?”

“I’ll always be your friend, Anders,” she told him, fiercely.

“Then we have nothing to worry about.  We’ll enjoy ourselves this evening, and I’ll make you come as many times as I can, until you can barely stand tomorrow.  And then we’ll see where we are in a month.  Sound like a fair deal?”

Hawke couldn’t help but chuckle at that.  “If you’re putting it that way, how can I say no?”

“Don’t,” he responded, simply, and captured her mouth with his own again.

* * *

 

With Anders gone back to Kirkwall, life at her little Grunding house quickly got back to its normal pace of things.  Fenris was more relieved than any of them, naturally, although he never made good on his threats to woo Hawke away from Anders’s interests.  Hawke wondered, vaguely, if Fenris even had the first clue as to how to woo a woman.  Perhaps before he lost his memories he was some sort of lothario, or a rakish lover, but the Fenris she knew now, the man he was at present, was shy and stuttering when it came to interpersonal relationships, and she always had to take the initiative in every aspect of their lives, from gathering him for fighting on jobs to even something as simple as having a meal together.  Part of that, she knew, was left over from him being a slave; slaves were not permitted to read; slaves were not permitted to want; slaves were not permitted to have, and suddenly, Hawke was teaching him how to be a normal person in a (somewhat) normal world.  It was, she could understand, overwhelming.  And without the distraction of Anders there, upsetting the household rhythm as well as sending her own head (and elsewhere) spinning, it was easier to see Fenris for the wounded animal he was.

That was one reason Hawke started taking the initiative with him, to see if there was any sort of salvageable romantic relationship between them.  She found he did not run from her, in these endeavors, but neither did they come easily even when she took the initiative there.  She started with having him, at least once every day, put his hand on her belly.  The movements she was feeling were coming more and more often, until some days there seemed to be near constant movement of some sort or another, and she made Fenris feel for it as well, with assurances that he may not be able to.  He was obviously uncomfortable with this level of closeness, while desiring it greatly, and she made sure to use gentle touches and equally gentle words with him.  These brought his rare smiles back to her, and the day he felt a slight movement under the plain brown cotton dress, it was the brightest, most wonderfully beautiful smile she had ever seen on anyone.  It fair took her breath away, and she wanted, hotly, to kiss him, to devour that smile, to run her fingers through his hair and have him right then and there on the kitchen table.

Instead, she smiled back, and pressed her hands over his.  “Three and a half months, and you get to meet your son or daughter,” she said, and then his smile turned shy, and he blushed softly.  Oh yes; this man was worth it, if he wanted her, moreso than Anders.  She was glad for the chance she had given Anders, but the more time she spent with Fenris, the more time they were _forced_ together by their circumstances, the more she wanted him to open up, to be his own, free man, and the more she was convinced she wanted him to want her as badly as she wanted him.  Which, again, made her head spin. 

If nothing else, their time together seemed to help Fenris feel more comfortable in her presence.  They had managed to glean a few more books for their tiny library, and Fenris and Hawke took turns nightly reading out loud.  Listening to his voice was intoxicating, and the reading sessions gave them an extra bonus of increasing his reading abilities and confidence.  She also had Fenris practicing writing again, and they started a fun game where they left each other short, friendly notes that were actually word puzzles.  Fenris got quite good at it quickly, and seemed to enjoy the challenge as well as Hawke’s initiative in including him.  When Orana professed a desire to learn to read and write, as well, she got included, too, and Fenris seemed to find a special sort of pleasure in teaching the former slave to read using his own abilities.  If nothing else, Hawke believed, it had to be a boost to his ego.

Midway through her fifth month, Hawke received a package and a letter from Merrill.  The package contained five plain, but pretty, dresses, all made with plenty of room in the bust and hips, and around the stomach.  Hawke blessed the woman, silently and out loud, for her perfect timing; her last wearable dress had basically given out the day before, and Hawke was afraid she would have to go around in a torn dress until the others got there.  The letter informed Hawke that Merrill would be following within a week, and Hawke and Orana set about cleaning up the house and harvesting whatever they could extra from the garden.

As she had discussed with Anders, the fortnight before, she had broached the subject of having another room adjoined to the house with Fenris.  He was happy to work as her intermediary, and soon found someone in the little town who was willing to do it for a decent price.  The plan would include another room and a long hallway leading to the little shed they had been using as a joint bathing chamber and privy.  The man was happy enough to go over that room as well, to make it more comfortable and to separate the bathing part from the privy part so that one could bathe in privacy if someone else needed to use the facilities.  Hawke was overjoyed with how things were progressing, and was certain that the third bedroom would be far enough along to start buying furnishings for by the time Merrill got there. 

To make things as comfortable as possible, she decided that Orana and Merrill could share the bedroom she usually shared with Orana, and she would share the room with Fenris.  Surprisingly, there were absolutely no arguments from anyone about that, and Fenris even insisted that she sleep on the bed he had been using, and he would sleep on the cot.  They also decided they would try to find another cot, or some sort of trundle bed, before Merrill’s actual arrival, to make things even  smoother. 

Hawke was hoping that she could talk Merrill into staying until past the beginning of Harvestmere; the first of that month was Feastday, and she wanted the help to cook, but also to celebrate.  It would be her first Feastday without her mother, and All Soul’s Day had been hard enough, even swept up as it was in amongst all the excitement.  Feastday would also be right about the time she was six months, and Anders would be coming, again.  It would be easier to put him off, she thought, fervently, if Merrill were also there.  It wasn’t that Hawke disliked Anders, and it wasn’t even that she didn’t desire him.  She just didn’t _know_ , and she wanted to give Fenris the chance that Anders seemed to want.  It was more fair to Fenris, she felt in her heart, to give him this time.  Anders was, even if possessed, a whole man.  His time in the Circle had not been wonderful, naturally, but Fenris was… damaged… in a way that Anders was not, and where a pregnancy with Anders being the father might have had the mage a nervous wreck, he would have been happy about it, as supportive as he was now; with Fenris, she just _knew_ he was half expecting Danarius to show up at any time to claim the babe as his property, and Fenris, too.  He needed time and a care and consideration that Hawke would give him, but that meant that Hawke needed Anders to keep his hands (and mouth, and… other parts…) to himself.  And that meant Merrill as a buffer, for good or ill.

It was a surprise, then, when Merrill showed up with Carver in tow.  In fact, it was such a surprise that Hawke actually fainted, and more than an hour later woke up in Fenris’s bed to a very worried Tevinter elf staring her in the face and barking orders to the others.  There was a great cacophony, with a lot of yelling, and she felt somewhat nauseated.  Apparently, as well, she had taken quite the nasty bump on her head, even with being caught somewhat on her downfall.  But most of all she was terrified, because Carver _knew, he knew he knew he knew_ , and Maker, oh Maker…

Fenris took her hand and squeezed it slightly.  “I will not let them have you.”  He glanced at her stomach, where it had grown so very large so very quickly.  “I will not let them have either of you.”

“You can’t kill Carver,” she gasped, trying to sit up.  Fenris pushed her back down, gently but firmly. 

“I won’t kill Carver,” he promised.  “But I can’t say that he’ll make it back to Kirkwall in good time.”

“In good time?  Fenris, he’s sure to have to go back sooner rather than later, or the Knight-Commander will send them looking, and then…!”

“Be quiet,” he told her, rising from the edge of the bed and going to the door of the room, where someone was doing his level best to pound he door down.

“Elf!  That’s my sister in there and I demand you let me talk to her!  Is she even awake?”

Fenris unbolted the lock on the door and cracked it open.  “That depends, Little Hawke.  Are you going to go running off to your associates?”

“Of course not!” he exclaimed, sounding offended.  “That’s my sister.  I didn’t tell the templars about her to begin with, why would I tell them about this?”

“People have a way of changing,” Fenris muttered.  “When you least expect it.”  But he opened the door, and soon Carver was coming through it, eyes only for Hawke and with Merrill trailing him, this time.

Before anyone could speak, Merrill was going off.  “Oh, Hawke, I’m so sorry, I was talking in The Hanged Man, I was ever so lonely, you see, with everyone gone, and I was talking, but Carver was in there, and he heard me, and he asked how you were doing in Antiva, or was it Rivain?  Any way, he asked, and I said, ‘Oh, Creators, you mean Grunding?’ And of course, I was set to be off here the next day, anyhow.  And he said he was coming whether I willed it or not, and I could make a scene or not, but he’s been ever so lovely, Hawke, and I think he’s genuinely hurt that we didn’t tell him—“

“It’s nice to see you, too, Merrill,” Hawke laughed, although it pained her head to do so.  She winced, quite obviously, and then Merrill was kneeling beside her and touching her head with gentle fingers. 

“Oh, not anything bad, just a bump.  Nothing broken!  That’s good.  Are you up for Healing it?  Or shall I?  My Healing isn’t as good as yours or Anders’s Healing, but I can manage this.”

“If you would, please,” Hawke told her.  “I’m trying to cut back on my magic use.”

“That’s an excellent idea, for a woman in your condition,” Carver broke in, sternly.

“Oh, for Andraste’s sake, Carver, can you not understand why this is something I would want to hide?”

“Who’s the father?  Is it the other apostate?  I’ll kill him,” Carver said, and his tone was serious.

“You’ll do no such thing.  And no, Anders is not the father.  If you’re going to be like that, I won’t tell you a thing more,” Hawke threatened. 

“Then I shall,” Fenris said, stepping forward.  “It’s mine, templar.  Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yours?”  Carver sneered and looked Fenris over, before turning his gaze back on Hawke.  “I didn’t know you went for elves, sister.”

Hawke slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand.  “And this is one reason why I didn’t tell you.  Stop being racist.”

“I’m not being racist!” Carver said, protesting his racism.

“If you have a problem with this, Little Hawke, I suggest you bring it to me and not bother your sister with it.  You’ve given her enough stress for the day, and a big enough shock for the rest of her pregnancy, I’d wager.”

“If you’re the father, when are you going to marry her?” Carver demanded.

“No one said anything about marriage,” Hawke interjected.

“Would anyone like anything to drink?” Orana asked, timidly stepping into the room.

“Thank the Maker,” Hawke breathed, touching her head where the now non-existent bump was.  “Orana, please take my brother and Merrill and see to situating them.  I’m afraid our sleeping arrangements are going to have to change somewhat if Carver is staying here.”

“You better believe I’m staying here!” he shouted.  “I’ve not taken leave in three years and that means I’ve got plenty of time to stay here and see you through this, sister.”

“Oh, you bloody well are not staying here this entire time, Carver Hawke,” she snapped back.

“Hawke is _my_ responsibility, templar,” Fenris snarled, at the same time.

“Neither of you are fit to tie a shoe, much less make a pair,” Carver replied, angrily.

“Messere Carver?  Merrill?” Orana asked, quietly.

“For the Maker’s sake, go with Orana,” she told Carver, waving him away.  “I’m not going anywhere, I assure you, and I want you out of my sight for a few minutes.”

“So long as you’re not going anywhere,” Carver said, and then Orana was ushering the two of them out of the room, giving Hawke a questioning look before following them back downstairs.

“Fenris, I’m so sorry,” Hawke began, and Fenris turned his own questioning look on her.

“Why are you sorry?”

“For bringing Carver down on us.  I’m afraid he won’t go back to Kirkwall.  I’m afraid he’ll be here the whole time, and this house isn’t big enough for all of us, much less the two of you.”  She chuckled dryly.  “Is there anyone you get along with, other than me and Orana?”

“I like Aveline well enough,” he admitted.  “And Donnic seems to be a good man.  A good match for Aveline, I think.  I like Varric, sometimes.”

“That’s quite the extensive list,” she said, lying back on the pillow and closing her eyes.

“Hawke, are you well?  The witch Healed you properly, yes?”

“I feel right as raindrops,” she assured him. 

“Do you wish me to go downstairs, as well?”

“Only if you like.  I wouldn’t mind you staying longer, if you wanted.  You could tell the babe a story.”

“Tell a story?  As in, make one up?”

“Sure. You’ll need to learn how to make up stories soon enough.  Why not get some practice in?”

“I have no idea how to make up a story to tell a child, Hawke.”

“We all have to learn sometime.  I taught you how to read and write, didn’t I?  Well, now I’ll teach you how to make up stories for children.”

“How do you do that?” he asked her, sitting down on the bed next to her. 

“Do what?”

“How do you make me feel like I can do anything, simply because you believe I can?”

“It’s because I believe in you, Fenris, even if you don’t believe in yourself.  I know you can do these things because I know what you’ve overcome.  Learning how to tell fairy tales to children is just another obstacle you will master.”  She grinned up at him.  “Besides, your voice is too nice to not use it.  Everyone wants to hear you speak.  Our child will be no different.”

He sat there, silently for a moment, looking at her through his shaggy bangs.  And then, quietly, tentatively, he said, “So… how do these sort of stories begin, usually?  ‘Once upon a time,’ I suppose?”

“Once upon a time,” Hawke agreed.

“Once upon a time,” Fenris said, then seemed at a loss for words.  “There lived a frog?”  Hawke giggled, and Fenris gave her a playfully dark look before continuing.  “And the frog lived by a pond.”

“What did the frog do at the pond?” Hawke asked.

“Frog things, I suppose,” Fenris said, which caused Hake to giggle again.  “And while he was doing these frog things, a halla came up to the frog and asked it for an apple.”

“Frogs carry around apples often, I imagine?” Hawke teased.

“Do you want me to tell the story or not?” Fenris growled, poking her in the side.

“I’m sorry.  Please, do continue.”  Fenris coughed slightly and waited, to make sure she wasn’t going to interrupt again, and then did continue.

“The frog shared his apple with the halla, and all the woodland animals learned the lesson that it is better to share than to be selfish.  The End,” he added, helpfully.

Hawke clapped quietly.  “That was an excellent story.  It even had a moral to it.  See?  You’re a natural at this.”  And without thinking, she sat up and brushed a kiss against his cheek, smiling brightly.

She froze, then, and caught herself, already pulling away with an apology on her lips, when Fenris turned his head slightly and pressed his lips shyly against hers, once, twice, three times quickly.  Then he stood just as quickly, face hidden in those silvery-white locks again, and stammered something that sounded like an apology, or an excuse, and fled the room.

Hawke sat there and touched her lips with the tips of her fingers, then smiled, slightly, relieved and happy at the same time.


	8. Sudden Shocks, and Sudden Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill shows up, with a guest in tow that no one was expecting. The guest causes much excitement in Hawke's little Grunding house, and Hawke and Fenris grow a little closer.

When Hawke finally decided she could hide upstairs no longer, she padded as quietly as possible downstairs, and was met with the sounds of a busy, bustling household.

Orana had Carver and Merrill helping fix the midday meal, using brisk instructions.  Fenris was nowhere to be seen, but Orana assured her he had just taken the large bucket to the big well on the town green.  With Messere Carver and Merrill there to see too, also, they would need to make extra trips to the well in order to blend in better.

“That’s certainly something we can put Carver to doing,” Hawke said, smiling at her brother.  “He’s got all those muscles, let him use them.”

“So long as you’re not planning on trying to send me away,” he warned, “I’m up for doing whatever.  I grew up farming just like you did, sister.  Not like I’m going to forgot how.”

“Well, don’t forget to call me ‘Mary’ while you’re here and we’ll have fewer problems,” she told him.  “I suppose I can always get away with having another brother.”

“ _Another_ brother?” he asked, incredulously.

“That’s how we’re passing Anders off.  He’s my brother.”

“That would explain the changed look,” Carver said.  “Although Merrill had already warned me about it.  You _do_ look like you could be Magey’s sister.  Close cousin, at worst.”

“I didn’t fool you for a second, did I?”

“Not me, _Mary_.  Maybe somebody who didn’t know you so well, but you wouldn’t be able to fool me, or Mother, Maker rest her soul.”

Hawke sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, elbows on the table, chin cupped in palms, and watched the three of them working around the kitchen.  “So, how are we going to do the sleeping arrangements?  The third bedroom isn’t ready yet, and we only have so many beds.  I suppose we could go knocking on doors and asking if anyone has a spare one to sell?”

“Why don’t you and that elf share a bed?  You’re having a baby together, after all.”  Carver said, perplexed.  It got very quiet in the kitchen, very quickly, as all activity came to a halt, and three pairs of female eyes rested on the templar.  “What?  What did I say?” he asked, after a long pause. 

“Um, actually,” Hawke began, and Carver rolled his eyes theatrically and made a rude sound.

“How did I know it would get complicated?  Oh, that’s right, because it involved _you_ , _Mary_.”

“Fenris and I aren’t together,” she finished, quickly, and in a voice barely above a whispered mutter. 

“Then why are you two having a baby?” Carver demanded.

“Because we were together… once… and then…”  She ran her fingers through her loose hair.  “Now we’re, um.  Not.  I suppose.  It’s probably not something you should bring up around him, though.  I mean, please, don’t.  It’s none of your business, and I’m sure we’ll work things out between us.  Eventually.”  She grinned, weakly and fakely.

“You were together once.  Well, that much is obvious.  What, five months ago, was it?”

“Five and a half,” she said, sinking down slightly in her seat, wishing she could avoid his sharp gaze. 

“And he’s not manned up to finish the job?  Are you sure you don’t want me to have a talk with him?”

“Maker, no!” she squeaked, causing Orana and Merrill to giggle and bringing Hawke’s awareness of the others back into abrupt focus.  “I mean, no, Carver.  I’ll handle things.  We.  We will handle things between us, like rational adults.”

“You shouldn’t be off apron strings, if you’re going to get yourself knocked up the minute Mother’s gone,” Carver said, unkindly.

“Messere Carver, you cannot treat the Mistress so,” Orana admonished him, fiercely for her, and it had an effect because Carver stammered an apology and managed a passable flush of embarrassment on his cheeks. 

“I suppose I’ll just share the bed with Fenris, and Carver can get the cot,” Hawke finally said, after silence had gone on too long.  “I’m fairly certain that’s the only way it would work out, anyway, unless Fenris decided to sleep on the sofa the entire time, or sleep on the floor.  Or Carver, although I’m afraid he’s much too tall for that sofa.”

“I will sleep on the floor,” Fenris said, as he came into the little kitchen and carefully set the heavy, full bucket of water on the floor. 

“You shouldn’t have to, Fenris.  We can share a bed.  It will be more comfortable for you, and should only be until we get hold of another one and the downstairs rooms are finished completely.  Harrold said it should be another week and then it will be ready to paint, and another few days after that we can move things in.”

“You… You should not have to, Mary.  You will be uncomfortable, sharing the bed with me.”

“Well, sleep on the couch, at least,” she urged him.  “The floor is too cold here, in the evening.”

“I will think on it,” he said, evasively.  “Is there naught else you need from the market?  I daresay it will be too late to get things, before long, and we were not expecting the extra company.”

“I don’t suppose you brought a blanket with you, brother?” Hawke asked, weakly.

“I suppose you missed the bags we had with us,” he acknowledged.  “We should have enough bedding.  If I have to, I can take the floor myself.”

“Maker, nobody is going to sleep on the floor in my home,” Hawke growled, thumping her fist on the table and causing Orana and Merrill to both jump.  She immediately apologized to both of the elven women while casting a dark look at the two stubborn men.  Fenris shrugged uncomfortably and made himself scarce, probably going out to the small shed that served as their barn to feed the mule, and Carver simply shrugged and continued working as Orana directed him. 

Their midday meal was simple: a salad, bread, sliced meat, and sliced cheese, with more hot tea for everyone.  Carver complained about not having anything in the way of wine or ale there to drink, and Fenris was kind enough to offer to take him to the tavern, later, so they could both indulge.

“Maker,” Hawke complained at them.  “It’s not like you can’t buy something to keep here!  I’m not drinking it because it’s bad for the babe, not because I have some sort of drinking problem.  If you want to, go buy a whole crate full of wine and keep it here.  I’m not stopping you.”  She crossed her arms under her breasts in a huff.  They had already grown larger and were still tender, and crossing her arms under them pushed them up further.  Every time she did that, Fenris’s eyes looked about to pop out of his head, and he blushed and stammered and looked elsewhere, but now it wasn’t as funny.  Since Carver showed up on her doorstep, she was more irritated than anything else, and even Merrill’s innocent chatter and Fenris’s sudden endearing stammers and blushes couldn’t take away from her inert “irritated at Carver” feeling, something she was familiar with from being around her brother his entire life. It was, she suspected, part of his charms.

“Do you not want me going to the tavern, Mary?” Fenris asked.  A simple question, with a simple answer.

“It doesn’t bother me if you want to go,” she said, although it did, for some reason.  Perhaps it was that fear Anders had instilled in her, that one evening he would decide to go home with someone else.  He had received his share of propositions, in the town.  Even Hawke had received some, especially from older men, once her condition was more well known.  She supposed they would be happy to take the chance on a woman they couldn’t get with child.  But the idea that Fenris would find company other than her…  Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who had to contend with their jealousy.  Had Anders told her that on purpose?  To instill this troubled question in her mind, to cause a rift between herself and Fenris?

“It is nice to get out, sometimes,” Fenris admitted.  “I do not find the company there as good as the company here, but The Badger serves a good ale.  Better than The Hanged Man.  And I’ve played a few games of Wicked Grace with some of the other townsfolk.”  He gave Hawke a pointed look, then glanced down.  “I know where home is, though.”

She felt her heart drop down into her stomach and rise into her throat at the same time.  _He knew_.  He knew about her fears, fears she hadn’t even truly acknowledged herself, and he was telling her they were worthless things, nothing for her to concern herself with.  Her fingers curled tightly around the fork she was holding and she dropped her gaze away from him.  She knew that Fenris was aware she had spent that other night with Anders, as well.  Did he not judge her for it?  Was _he_ jealous?  Maker, it would be so much easier if he would just admit he wanted to be with her.  It would be easier to take it slow if she knew there was an actual destination, a true goal, in mind, and not just some imaginary line in the sand that she was begging for him to cross. 

“I see,” was all she managed to say, finally, her voice small.  They both strenuously avoided looking at the other one, and Merrill and Carver were oblivious to that which had just unfolded between the two, chattering on about whether or not they should all go out to the tavern that evening.

“Have you been to the tavern yet, Orana?” Merrill asked, sweetly.  “I bet it’s ever so much fun.  Do you play Wicked Grace?  I’m dreadful at it, to be sure, but I’ll teach you, if you like.”

“Perhaps a night out would be fun,” Hawke said, daring a glance at Fenris.  “Anders did tell me that a glass of wine every now and then wouldn’t hurt anything.”  She paused a moment.  “How do you feel about that, Fenris?”

“I would certainly be happy to accompany you, Mary,” he replied, not meeting her gaze.  “It is a better establishment than The Hanged Man, but smaller, and with fewer all-day drunks.

“Sounds like a grand evening,” Carver said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Nobody asked you to come stay with us, Carver,” Hawke reminded him.  “There isn’t even a Peaches here to keep you company.”

“Peaches?  Oh, I just love peaches; they’re so delicious and juicy,” Merrill said, innocently.  “Do you think we’ll find any here this time of year?  I’d surely love to eat a peach!”

Hawke spit the tea out of her mouth, apologizing to Orana profusely and dabbing at the mess with a napkin.  Carver was working hard to keep a straight face, and even Fenris, who had had the story explained to him before, looked as if he were about to smile. 

“I don’t think there are any peaches around here, Merrill,” Hawke confessed, once she got her amusement under control.  “However, we do have those lovely apple trees.  They’re growing quite well now, and we should have enough ripe enough for apple pies just in time for Feastday.  You’re staying for Feastday, right?  Of course you are!”

“I am?  Oh, how delightful.  I’ve missed having celebrations back with my clan,” she said, “and I’m so dreadfully lonely.”

“Consider this your invitation to stay and enjoy Feastday with us, then,” Hawke said, and then went on to question Merrill about Feastday and celebrations among the Dalish, safely steering away the topic from anything that might be too embarrassing for anyone to deal with.  If Fenris objected to the invitation, he did not comment; he simply and quietly sat there and seemed to either be ignoring everyone or listening intently, eating his small salad and meat and cheese and bread while the others talked and planned for Feastday.

Once everyone was done eating, Hawke shooed them all out of the kitchen and outside to do chores and be shown around the property so that she could have time to talk with Fenris alone, to gauge his feelings on having Carver and Merrill there for a potentially unknown amount of time.  She had him doing the washing up as she prepared what she would need to make bread to go along with their stew for the nightly meal.  Fenris was reliable at washing up only when there were few dishes, and simple ones, she and Orana had learned the hard way.

“Fenris,” she began, and he immediately hunched in on himself.  “Is something wrong?” she asked, seeing the movement.

“You are going to berate me,” he said, mournfully.

“Whatever for?”

“Whatever I have done wrong this time.  It is why you wanted me alone.”

“I was actually going to ask you how you felt about Carver and Merrill both staying for a time, since you’ve decided that you’re staying all the way until the end as well.”

“Why should you care what I think?  It is your home, and I, little more than a guest here.”

“It’s your home, too, and you know that.”

“Only because I forced it on you,” he replied, bitterly, pouring a bucket of water into the washbasin.

“You never did.  I could have made you leave if I truly wanted you gone.  I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into when you decided to stay here!  And I sort of understand.  You didn’t want to be in Kirkwall alone.”  He nodded at that, although she could only tell because she was watching him so closely.

“Are you not going to make the bread, Mary?” he asked her, and with a start she realized that she had, indeed, been standing there staring at him, watching for his reactions.

“Only if you tell me how you feel about it,” she told him.

“I do not care.  I would rather not share a home with the blood mage, and I think I might wind up killing your brother before all is said and done,” he admitted. 

“Because of his insults to my honor?” she asked, measuring out cups of flour into a large, wooden bowl.

Fenris chuckled, darkly.  “Among other things. 

“Why _are_ you here, Fenris?  Other than because you didn’t want to be alone in Kirkwall?  I know with all of us gone, you were more vulnerable, but wouldn’t you have been safer with Varric and Isabela?”

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” he cursed.  “It has nothing to do with not feeling safe, Ha— _Mary_ , and everything to do with…  It just has nothing to do with that,” he finished, lamely. 

“I see,” she said.  She did not.  But perhaps, in time, he would explain to her. 

After a long while of comfortable silence and activity, Fenris said, surprisingly, “If you do not wish me to sleep on the floor or on the sofa, I will share the bed with you.  It is no hardship for me, Mary.”

“It was just the logical conclusion,” Hawke said, nonchalantly.  “Besides, I might be able to talk you into another one or two of those backrubs you gave me.”

“Perhaps even a foot rub,” Fenris bantered back, and Hawke grinned to herself.  He wasn’t exactly talented at massages, but just about anything was welcome for her then.

“Or, if you like, _you_ can share the bed with Carver and I’ll sleep on the cot.  Oh!  Or you can share the cot with Carver, and I’ll have the bed all to myself!”

“And miss your sharp elbows poking me?” He huffed a quick laugh.  “Perish the thought.”  Fenris finished drying his hands on the kitchen towel and gestured to where Hawke was busy kneading bread.  “Do you need help?”

“I could certainly use a foot rub after this,” she said.  “And my ankles feel swollen as all get out.”

“’Swollen as all get out’?  Is this a Ferelden term?”

“It’s a ‘me’ term,” Hawke told him.  “Of course, that’s assuming you can find my ankles and feet.  I certainly can’t see them around this huge thing that’s become my stomach here recently.”

“You are growing a baby.  I’ve been told they become quite large in there,” Fenris said.

“You can feel it again, when I’m done with the bread.  I just need to shape it and let it set for an hour.”  She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek, leaving a smudge of flour there, and puffed a lock of hair out of her face with an exasperated breath.  “Can you believe this is what life was like for me, back in Lothering?  Yes, before I was the mighty Champion, vanquisher of Arishoks, I was a lowly farm girl.  Fear me!”

“I could see you, back then,” Fenris said, and Hawke felt there was something off about his tone. 

“You could see me barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, making dinner?”

“Why not?  It is an admirable thing, to be a wife and a mother, is it not?”

“It was good enough for my mother, I suppose, although we did a lot more moving around growing up than most people do.”

“Have you never wanted that life?” Fenris asked her, settling down in one of the vacated chairs.

“I never really had a choice,” she told him.  “Who do you think I could risk knowing about me?  Or my sister?  Or Father, when he was alive?”  She shook her head and blew that infernal lock of her out of her face again.  “I couldn’t risk it.  The only reason I walked out with the few boys that I did was to allay questions.  It wouldn’t have been normal for a girl my age to not show interest in anyone, even as bony and plain-looking as I was.”

“Bony?  Plain-looking?”  Fenris scoffed.  “You are neither of those things.”

“You tell a tall tale, serah.”  She looked down at her expanded bosom and widened hips.  “Although I suppose not so much ‘bony’ any longer.”   Hawke sighed suddenly and shook her head again.  “No, that sort of life wasn’t something I had much hope for.  And when we had to flee the Blight, when we got to Kirkwall… My life, as you know, has been little better than a mercenary with a purchased title, even if the Amells _were_ something back in the day.  Mother wound up pinning all her hopes for grandchildren on me simply because I was the last one left.  However, the magic in our line, and the fact that my Father was an apostate, discouraged any serious suitors.  As you well know, again.”  She smirked at him and winked playfully.  “And I have to admit that my affections were taken by a certain elf.  You might be acquainted with him.”

“An elf, you say?  Tell me of him,” Fenris replied, leaning forward slightly and smiling faintly.

“Well, he’s tall and lanky, for an elf.  Rather handsome.  Brilliant green eyes.”

“I can’t say I know any tall, lanky, handsome elves with green eyes,” Fenris said to her, and Hawke laughed.

“If only I could capture his heart like he has captured mine,” she cooed at him.

“I had been led to believe that your affections were now being bestowed upon a certain apostate,” Fenris told her, the jealousy ill-concealed.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” Hawke told him, dusting her hands off and covering the thick loaf of bread with a cheesecloth.  “Now, that needs to set, and I need to wash up.  And then put my feet up; I was on them for too long this time, I think,” she said, frowning slightly.

“Do you need to lie down?” Fenris asked, suddenly concerned and rising from the chair.  “I will rub your feet, if you require it.  I do not mind so much.”

“I wouldn’t say no, if you truly dion't object,” Hawke told him.  “But I do need to get this flour off my hands.  And face.  And maybe even change my dress.”

“I don’t mind,” Fenris said again, looking down and suddenly shy.  Hawke smiled at him, encouragingly.

“Then, let’s get me cleaned up,” she said. 

* * *

 

Hawke moaned at the feel of Fenris’s thumbs pressing against the arch of her foot.  She _moaned_ , unabashedly and wantonly, right there on the sofa, and didn’t care if it sounded… what it sounded like, even when her brother came into the house and exclaimed at her, “Maker’s breath, you two, get a room!”

“He’s massaging my _feet_ , Carver,” Hawke said, although it came out slightly more slurred because of how relaxed she was feeling.

“It sounds like he’s a bit higher up than your feet, sister.”  Fenris sat there, red as the Hawke family crest, but continuing, dutifully, to massage on her swollen feet.

“Well, it’s just my feet.  You can see for yourself,” she called over her shoulder.  “I’m fully dressed and everything, if you don’t believe me.”

“How can I tell?  You’re huge under that thing.  It looks like you’ve got some sort of large ball underneath a tent of cotton,” Carver told her.  Fenris shot him a sharp look under furrowed brows.

“I _know_ , Carver.  I know I am huge under this dress.  But, I assure you, everything is still on appropriately, except stockings and shoes.  He’s just massaging my feet, and this is a courtesy he does me every so often because I _ache_ , Carver, more than you can ever know.”

“I might even massage her back later,” Fenris said.  “It depends on how crazy the evening gets.”

The look Carver gave the two of them was at once suspicious and irritated.  “Maker, sister, is there _anyone_ you can’t get under your thumb?”

Hawke gestured towards the elf lazily.  “I’d hardly call that ‘under my thumb,’ brother.  He’s doing something nice for me.  I appreciate it.  I cook for him every day, after all.  It’s a trade-off.”

“Are you sure you two aren’t married?  You act like you’re married.  All the parts I remember from Mother and Father, at any rate.”

“We are not,” Fenris said, eyes on Hawke’s feet now, cheeks coloring. 

“Carver,” Hawke said, drawing his attention back to her.

“What?”

“Shut.  Up.”  Hawke suggested, half-closing her eyes and moaning again as Fenris hit a particularly tense spot on her foot.  He hummed appreciatively at her enjoyment and moved his massaging up her leg slightly to around her ankles.

“I’m a grown man, you know, sister.”

Hawke made a rude gesture at him, at which Carver huffed and snorted.  “Where am I sleeping, _Mary_?”

“The cot in Fenris’s room,” she replied.  “I will sleep on Fenris’s bed, as the poor, huge woman who actually needs said bed.  Merrill and Orana will share my bed.  Fenris will either sleep in the bed with me, or here on the sofa, but absolutely not, under any circumstances, on the floor.”

“You two aren’t going to… you know… while I’m in there, right?”

Hawke’s temper frayed.  “There will be no ‘you knowing’ going on in this house while you are here, Carver, I assure you.  Much less while you are sleeping in the same room.”  She sank back down to a relaxed stance, wiggling her toes.  “We’re not you and Peaches by a long shot.”

“It was only that once,” Carver started, but Hawke flipped him the gesture again and Carver scowled at her, shutting up.

“Is that a promise?” Fenris said to Hawke, as Carver stomped his way up the stairs, carrying bags of what were, presumably, his belongings.

“Is what a promise?” she asked, then covered her mouth to stifle a yawn.

“’You knowing.’  Is that a promise?”

“Maker, not you, too,” she complained, pulling her feet away from him and sitting up.

“I was simply wondering if I needed to be concerned with that when the abom—when Anders comes back to visit.”

“You have no reason to be jealous,” she told him, sighing and placing a hand on his arm.  He didn’t look at her, instead looking down at his hands.  “I… Fenris, I understand, okay?”

“You do not,” he said, voice little more than a whisper.

“I _do_ ,” Hawke insisted, taking one of his hands into both of hers.  “I understand.  And so long as you’re trying, I’ll try, okay?”

He darted a look to her, then looked away.  “What are you expecting from me, Hawke?” he asked, finally.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “Maybe I’ll know it when I see it.  But for now…  Well, we’re a team, right?  And we’re always going to be friends.”

“Yes,” he said.  “We will always be friends, no matter what.”

“We’ll just have to see how things go from here,” she told him, with more self-assurance than she felt.  “Although I’ll admit that would probably go more smoothly without Carver here.”

“Your brother does certainly know how to cause tension,” Fenris said.  “Is there any way you can convince him to leave after Feastday?  He will, assuredly, not leave before then, and neither would I ask you to kick your brother out before a major holiday.  I know it’s the  first without your mother…”

She smiled, a brittle thing.  “See?  You’re doing better than you give yourself credit for.”  Then she sighed and turned with her back to him and gestured towards it.  “Massage, if you don’t mind?”  He began gently thumbing the small of her back, starting in the center and going outward in loops.  Her irritation quickly eased away under the tender ministrations of his hands.  “Maker… That feels good.  You can stop never,” she told him.  “Anyway, we can try to get him to leave by inviting him back, but explaining we need the room.  The worst that will happen is that he won’t leave.”

“I will endeavor to not kill him,” Fenris promised, pressing the palms of his hands against her back as well.  Hawke leaned back, slightly, arching her back so as to put more pressure against his hand.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” she admitted.  “Or Merrill.”

“I can deal with the blood mage better than I can deal with your brother,” Fenris admitted, and Hawke chuckled at the idea. His palms pushed upwards, rubbing circles on her back and easing up the muscles; Hawke gathered her hair and pulled it over her shoulder, giving him better access.  It was nice, that he was willing to do these things.  She couldn’t imagine him doing them a month ago; perhaps her short affair with Anders _had_ done some good, had spurred him into making up his mind about what he wanted. 

“I’m sure he’ll calm down, in a few days,” Hawke admitted.  “Seeing me so very… pregnant… had to have been a shock.  Not to mention looking so different, even if he claims he knew exactly who I was.  He’s probably got a lot of anger going on, because we didn’t tell him and made all these plans without him.”

“We couldn’t be sure,” Fenris said, and Hawke simply shook her head.

“You know, Anders said the same about you.  He said we couldn’t be certain that you wouldn’t just turn the baby over to the Chantry.  You haven’t exactly made your stance on mages much of a secret, Fenris.  For a long while, they told me not to even bring you with me on jobs because they were afraid you would wind up turning me in to the templars as well.”

“I… Hawke, I would never… _Marian_ , I would never turn you.  You are… you are unlike any woman I have ever met, any _mage_ I have ever heard of,” he said, earnestly and urgently, turning her body so that she was facing him.  “I… not our _child_ , Marian.”  He looked so hurt, sounded so hurt.  Her heart broke for him a little bit, then.

“No, Fenris,” she said, cupping his jaw with the palm of her hand.  “No, I know that, even if some of the others are too dumb to realize it.  And really, that was only in the beginning, and the rest of it was just Anders.”  She shrugged, uncomfortably.  “Anders is a good man, though I understand some of the reasons why you might dislike him, but he has a rather limited world view in regards to things, and when it comes to mages, the world is black or white.  To him, not to me.”

“You have taught me that the world is full of color in regards to that topic,” Fenris replied, dryly.  “It has not eased my distrust; there is too much in Kirkwall to keep my opinion the way it has been.  But knowing you, and hearing how your sister was, and your Father…  It has changed my perception, some.  There are good mages, the foil to the ones I knew back in Tevinter.  I have simply met very few of them in my time.  Perhaps the north is not a good place for those gifted with magic?” he asked, finally.

“Perhaps not,” she agreed.  “But my Father was from the Kirkwall Circle, so even here, there is good to be found.  It’s simply more difficult to find it.”  They shared a smile, and then, so suddenly that she didn’t have time to expect it, he pulled her against him, looked into her eyes for something, she didn’t know what, and then pressed his lips against her for the fourth time that day.  It wasn’t a quick kiss, and it wasn’t done with much in the way of skill, but it was a step in a direction that she very much wanted to go, and Hawke fell into it with abandon, parting her lips and tasting his mouth, holding herself against him with one hand on his shoulder and the other cupped behind his head.  Fenris had his arms circled around her, loose at first and then more tightly the longer their lips were together.

A cough and a laugh from the stairs had the two separating as quickly as two teenagers caught necking.  She knew that her blush matched that on Fenris, and he scrambled to stand up off the sofa, looking away from both of them and adjusting his clothes, although they didn’t particularly need it.

“I thought you two ‘weren’t together,’ _Mary_?” Carver said, cruelly drawing attention to things that didn’t need attention drawn to them.

“Carver, can’t you just shut it?” Hawke asked, covering her eyes with the palm of one hand.  There wasn’t even a chance they would have gotten past a little bit of kissing, but… _but…_

“You two are the biggest—“

“CARVER HAWKE, YOU WILL SHUT IT NOW OR I WILL KICK YOUR ASS BACK TO KIRKWALL,” Hawke shouted at him, her voice going hoarse with the force.  Even Fenris was taken aback by how loudly she was shouting, and she knew that they had to hear her outside as well as at least next door, although they might not have been able to make out the individual words.

“Maker, Marian, you need to shut it,” Carver said, putting his hands over his ears.  “Fine, fine, I’ll drop it for now.”

“You’ll drop it or you’ll leave, Carver,” Hawke told him, hands on hips and all seriousness.

“Fine, I’ll drop it for good, then.  But this isn’t the last you’ve heard from me about it.  I’ll just bring it up a different way.”

“Carver….”

He threw up his hands and marched straight out the back door, muttering something she couldn’t quite understand but apparently Fenris could, if the expression on the elf’s face was any tell.

“Do I even want to know what he said?” Hawke asked, and Fenris simply shook his head. 

“Your brother is like the dregs of spiced wine.  You and Bethany obviously got all the good qualities,” he told her, before pulling his cloak off the coat rack and shrugging into it.  “I won’t befoul your ears with what he said.  Suffice it to say, if he uses such language about you again, he and I will have more than words.”  And then Fenris was out the front door, leaving Hawke frustrated and irritated.  

A moment later, Orana peeked her head into the door.  “Is everything well, Mistress?” she asked, quietly.

“I’m not sure, Orana,” she told the other woman.  “I just really do not know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carver is an ass as only a little brother can be.


	9. Telling Secrets and Telling Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver gets settled in, Hawke and Fenris share a bed, and Anders comes to visit for Hawke's sixth month checkup.

_His teeth nipping at her slender neck, his hands caressing over her naked flesh.  Hawke moaned, unabashedly pleased, and scratched her nails down his back.  Fenris’s lips pressing over her skin, finding her mouth, his body between her legs, and then he was thrusting up inside of her.  She gasped, arching her back up, eyes wide, and then—_

Hawke sat up in the bed, the blanket falling down around her waist.  She was gasping and blinking away gritty sleep, licking dry lips and wiping at her eyes.  Oh Maker, that one was particularly graphic.  She squirmed just slightly, remembering the heat pooling between her thighs, and then her hand touched something warm, and hard, and she turned her head, almost comically slowly, to see Fenris staring up at her in the dark.

“Did you have a nightmare?” he asked, quietly, so as to not wake up Carver, on the cot not too far from the bed.

“Not… exactly…”  Her smalls were soaked through and she was glad the shadows of the night hid the crimson flushing over her face.  Maker, it was awfully hot in there….

“Do you need to me to massage your back again?”  He had done so, as she lay on her side, until she finally managed to find sleep.  Hawke felt it was extremely polite of him to be so willing to massage on her, and it was also extremely flustering because it was starting to seem like there was more between them than he was admitting to.

“I, um… I need to go to the privy,” she said, stalling.  Well, it was half-true. 

“Of course,” he replied, sitting up and getting out of the way so that she could slip off the bed.  From previous experience, they all knew that Fenris simply could not abide sleeping up against a wall if someone else was sleeping near him; it made him feel too pinned-in. 

Hawke padded out of the room quietly, and tried to not make the stairs creak as she slipped down them.  She was grateful that she had thought to include a little hallway going to the privy chamber as part of the additional building, because it was slightly chill in the house, even for the beginnings of fall and for the hearth and oven to be going downstairs, heating the rest of the house.  By the time she had finished and washed up and slipped back into bed next to Fenris, her toes were cold.  She pressed them against his bare feet and jerked his feet away, cursing softly.

“You should warm my feet up,” she whispered to him, and he scoffed.

“Not likely.  Warm your own feet, woman.  Why do you not wear stockings, like other humans do?”

“It gets too hot to sleep in them,” she replied, honestly.  “I start feeling like I’m inside an oven myself.”  He scoffed again, but much more softly, and the two of them settled into comfortable resting positions, with her on her side and him on his back.  She cupped her arm under her extended belly and supported it slightly, then said, “I need another pillow.  For my stomach,” when she realized she would not be able to sleep like that all night.  Fenris groaned slightly, but slipped his own pillow out from under his head and thumped it lightly onto her.

“Here,” he said.  “Now go to sleep, Marian.”

“Tell me a secret first,” she commanded him, settling the pillow so that it supported her adequately.

“What kind of secret do you expect me to tell?  And how do you know I wouldn’t be lying?”  She couldn’t see him the dark, but she knew he was rolling his eyes.  “And why risk waking your brother up?”

“Because it’s a sleepover, and that’s what you do during sleepovers?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied, dryly. 

“If you tell me a secret, I’ll tell you one,” she promised.

He sighed, much put-upon, but finally relented.  “I prefer your Healing over Anders’s Healing,” he said, after a long pause.

“That’s no secret,” she accused.

“I do not mind it when you Heal me?” he tried again.

“Ohh, really?”

“It feels like… summer,” he whispered, almost shyly.

“That is a secret.  I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“It is your turn now,” he reminded her.

“I… No, I reserve the right to tell you a secret later.”

He sat up, slightly, and she could tell he was looking at her disapprovingly.  “Even I know that this is now how the game works, Hawke.”

“Fine,” she muttered, and lay there quietly for a moment.  “I… want to kiss you,” she said, finally.

“That’s not much of a secret,” he complained.

“I want to kiss you right now,” she said, and it was his turn to be quiet.

“Hawke…” he managed, after a few moments.  “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I didn’t ask you to kiss me.  I just told you I wanted to.  It was a secret.  Your turn.”

“No more games tonight, Hawke,” he told her, firmly.  “You need to go back to sleep, or you’ll wind up taking two naps and then I’ll have to deal with Carver by myself even longer.”

“You’re not fun,” she told him, and he hummed in acknowledgement.  She did, eventually, manage to get back to sleep, but it was full of strange dreams, of being chased and chasing, and of losing things.  Of almost kissing Fenris, but then he turned into Harrold Milford, the neighbor.  Hawke woke before everyone else, glad to be awake and away from the damnable things.  By the time Orana had risen to start baking to break the day’s fast, Hawke had been at it for a while.  She was preparing Orlesian toast and bacon, and had started a pot of something that they had picked up at the market, a sort of bean that came from Antiva and was called _coffee_.  Fenris had claimed to have had it often, in Tevinter, and Orana was familiar with it, but Hawke, Carver, and Merrill, Fereldens as they were, had never had it.  The smell was already promising to be wonderful, between the baking bread and the coffee.

Orana fussed over her mightily, exclaiming that the Mistress should still be abed, but Hawke begged her off, asking to be left alone and claiming to have had a rough night sleeping.

“Mistress, if we need to, we can find another bed quickly,” Orana promised.

“It wasn’t the bed nor the company, Orana.  Anders had warned me about having poor sleep, and last night was one example of it.”

“Messere Fenris was not forward, was he?”

Hawke rolled her eyes.  “It’s a bit late for that question, don’t you think?”  She ran her palm over her stomach for emphasis, and Orana blushed mightily. 

“Even so, Mistress,” Orana said.

Hawke shook her head.  “He was fine, Orana.  I promise you, it was just poor sleep on my part.  You should enjoy the breakfast!  It’s not often that anyone is up before you to get it started.

“It is rather nice,” Orana said.  “But you must let me finish it up.”

“We’ll finish it together,” Hawke told her.  “I’m not going back to sleep anytime soon and I’d rather have my hands occupied.”

The day progressed slowly, as most of their days did, full of chores and preparations for the babe.  There was post to be received: letters from Isabela and Varric, and one from Anders, letting them know he had arrived safely back in Kirkwall and that, assuming there were no glaring issues, for them to expect him two days before Feastday.  Fenris took that news as well as could be expected, and Carver was rather unhappy about it, as well.  With a tsk and a sigh, Hawke sent Fenris off to try to find someone with a spare bed they would be willing to part with, probably for a hefty sum, as well as a trundle attachment and, perhaps, Maker willing, a few cots. 

“If we don’t find that,” Hawke said, to the household in general, “someone is going to wind up sleeping on the floor regardless of my preferences.”

When Fenris returned from his errands, the best news he could deliver was that a bed would be ready to be delivered to their home as soon as the extra room was completed, but that they could, indeed, have their hands on an extra cot tonight.  Hawke doled out the silver to him and urged the elf as well as her brother to work together politely to get the cot over to their house, encouraging them to use the cart and mule if absolutely need be, and then told them to set up the cot in the little room she usually shared with Orana.  Merrill could sleep on that, or Orana, and she could share with Fenris again, she supposed.  It was only polite to ensure that the guests all had a bed to themselves, and she certainly wasn’t going to make Orana share if she didn’t have to.  Besides… she secretly liked sharing the bed with Fenris.  He _cuddled_ even without meaning to.

The next week passed pleasantly enough, and the construction on her room and the hallway leading to the bathing chamber was completed in due time.  Carver and Fenris helped with the delivery of the bed, something much larger than she had grown used to in the little Grunding house, and Carver set the thing up for her, with much glowering from Fenris, who simply lacked skill at simple things such as that.  The room itself had been painted a white shade, like the rest of the house was painted, and she, Orana, and Merrill enjoyed shopping in the market and picking up a few small rugs to lay around it. 

“All I need now is everything else that goes with a room,” Hawke declared, “and it might be fit to live in!”

“It’s lovely, truly,” Orana told her.  It was true; the bed itself was lovely, with a nicely carved headboard and a footboard that reminded her more of a sleigh than a bed.  The entire thing was all over curves, and the mattress they had managed to find to go with it was stuffed rather comfortably with down feathers, just like the two pillows they had purchased.  Soft, but not too soft, and good for her aching back. 

Hawke went ahead and put in an order with the largest shop owner in town, the one who dealt mostly with the larger purchases, for a new dresser and mirror, and two end-tables to go alongside the bed.  She also paid handsomely for a pair of lamps to go with the end-tables, lamps that used a special type of oil to burn, instead of wood.  It was an impulse buy, but the shopkeeper had told her that they were absolutely the newest thing, and she had fallen in love with their design, all red and yellow flowers that seemed to match the bedspread she used perfectly.  She laughed a little, to herself, walking out of the shop after handing over such a large sum of gold; she had never expected to be enjoying purchasing household goods such as this.  They were always her mother’s domain.  Leandra would have taken great pains on this house, and enjoyed every moment of it.  Hawke was starting to understand that enjoyment, and wondered if she would see to more things about her house in Kirkwall personally, once they returned.

After getting everything and everyone settled back again, Hawke and Orana turned their minds to preparing for Feastday.  It was a big gift-giving holiday everywhere in Thedas, except with the Dalish, and she had pressed a few gold into Orana’s hand and told her to feel free to spend it however she liked on gifts for whomever she wished. 

“Consider it a bonus,” she told the young woman.  “For all the help you give, and all the trouble.”  Orana had stammered thanks and blushes, and wrung a promise out of Hawke that she would help her go shopping and pick out more gifts, a promise Hawke was happy to give.

Of course, the biggest part of Feastday was the food and the pranks.  Hawke decided to forego the “I’m going into labor!” prank, because she didn’t want to die five times over, and warned them all against pranking her while encouraging them to prank each other.  For the feast part, she consulted with Orana about what they had in the pantry, and what would be harvestable from the garden, and what they could easily get in the market, and the two of them were cooking and baking up a storm starting the day before Anders was set to arrive.  As promised, Hawke had two apple pies finished and cooling, much to the delight of Fenris, especially, who had enjoyed it when Hawke made apple pies for him in the past.  He was nearly like a child, trying to sneak a taste of it, and it was the subject of general amusement, how Hawke seemed to catch him every single time.

Later that evening, when everyone was getting ready to retire for the next day, Fenris finally cornered her, in regards to the visit by Anders.

He was shy, as usual, speaking of anything remotely related to their relationship or feelings between them, keeping his head ducked down and the bangs covering his eyes.  His back was straight, however, and his posture was stiff in general, and he maintained a respectful, almost formal, distance between the two of them.

“Mary,” he said to her, once he got her alone in her room.  “Are… Is Anders…” He stumbled over his words.  Hawke took pity on him and helped him out.

“I was assuming he would sleep on the cot we got,” she said, brushing out her hair as she sat on the edge of her bed.  “Although I can understand if you do not want to share the room with two people in cots.  Your room _is_ rather small.”

“The mage… he thinks he has a…” Fenris ran his fingers through his hair and tilted his head so that he wasn’t even looking in her direction.  “ _Fasta vass._   He believes that he has a claim on your affections.”

“He can believe whatever he wants to believe, Fenris,” she told him, setting the brush aside and pulling her hair back and into three plaits for a braid.  “As far as I’m concerned, I am a single woman with child.  If anyone else happens to want to discuss the matter with me like adults, I’m up for such a discussion.”  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and saw his hands making fists.  “It’s not such a difficult conversation as some would believe,” she added, kindly. 

“I will sleep on the cot in here with you, and the abomination can sleep on my bed,” Fenris muttered, nearly too low for her to hear.

“Fenris, you don’t have to sleep on a cot in here.  The bed is big enough for two.  It’s larger than your bed, and we both fit fine on there for a couple of days, after all.”

“It’s not proper to ask a lady to share her bed,” he complained.

She arched her brow and gave him a flat look.

“… You know what I mean.  It’s not proper.  What if there is talk?”

“I’d hardly be the first woman to bed her elven servant.”  He stiffened at that, offended, and she laughed.  “Because you know I think of you as my servant, right?  And not as an equal.  Perish the thought!”

“That is not what I meant,” he growled.

“Yes, it is.  And don’t worry about it.  Everything will be fine.  We can set up the cot in here, if you like, but you’re still welcome to sleep on the bed with me.  It’s certainly more comfortable and I promise I’ll keep to my side.”  He muttered something else, and then nodded sharply and left the room.  She sighed, resigned to another few days of arguments and drunkenness.  Ah, the holidays: what better way to show why you don’t want to talk to your family more often than getting them all together in the first place? 

* * *

 

Anders arrived before midday the next day, apparently having caught a ride with on a cart with a man who was pushing through the night to get there, and Hawke had to bite her tongue at how tired he looked.  As she embraced him and welcomed him into her home again, she delved him with her magic, checking for any signs of illness.  The results told her that he was tired, and underfed, and she frowned to herself at that; she had made sure he went away with a fistful of gold and promises that he would make sure he ate at least once a day, every day.  If Justice was working him too hard… She would do nothing.  There was nothing she _could_ do, or she’d have already done it. 

It was awkward, explaining to Anders that he would be sleeping in the room with Carver.  The hurt look on his face was unmistakable to everyone, and Hawke felt like a right heel telling him.  It was even worse when he cornered her, demanding an explanation, with those sad, sad eyes of his.

“You’ve chosen Fenris over me, then?” he asked, and it sounded like his heart had been broken.

“I’m not choosing anyone, Anders,” she told him, patiently. 

“He doesn’t want you, Mary, else he’d have said something by now.  You’re six months along and he’s known for four and that’s still not enough to sway him into stepping up and acting like a man.”  He gently cupped her chin, tilted her face up so that she had to look at him.  “I love you.  He doesn’t.”

“He needs time to know what he wants and doesn’t want, Anders.  And so do I.”

“And what of what I want?  I know you like me, at least.  I know what we shared, when last I was here.  You can’t tell me that meant nothing to you!”

“It… it was wonderful,” she admitted, because it had been.  “But I’m afraid that’s not enough to build a relationship on.  And…” she looked down, shyly, away from him.  “And there’s the… Justice… You understand?”

“I would think that, as a mage, you would understand the difference,” he said, stepping back slightly, an offended tone to his voice.

“I _do_ understand the difference.  That doesn’t mean I agree with it, Anders, and it doesn’t mean that I’m certain that I can live with it.  I mean… I stopped you from hurting that poor girl that time, but what happens if… and there’s a child…?”

“I would never hurt you, or your child, Mary, and you should know that,” he said, urgently.  “You must know that.  I was… caught up, then.  And I take responsibility for my actions, but still.  Even Justice knows the difference between an adult and a child, and Justice and I are one.”

“So what are you suggesting, exactly?  You want to sleep with me while you’re here?”  She was irritated now, the thought occurring to her that Anders was only after one thing, and that was something that was assured and easy, with no risks.  Just like those older men who had tried hitting on her before.

“Maker, no!  I want to be with you always, Mary.  I’d… I’d marry you, if you would have me.  If we could.  But I can think of no better way to show you how I feel than to be here for you, and to actually demonstrate it.”

“Oh, Anders,” she sighed, shaking her head and looking at where her feet were supposed to be.  Anders stepped back towards her and rubbed his hands over the swell of her belly, starting slightly at one of the movements.

“Oh, the babe is moving in there.  That’s good!  She’s active a lot, then?”

“Yes,” Hawke replied, grateful for the change of topic.  “Most of the day, now, actually.  And I’ve not had anything much different than last time; more of the same, really, although I have to pee a lot more often than I did even before.”

“I bet she’s resting on your bladder, then,” Anders said, cupping the bottom of her stomach wistfully and bringing his hands up to circle around the entire thing.  “Maker, you’re so beautiful like this.  I… Most Grey Wardens don’t have children, you know.  After.  And you know how they’re treated in the Circle; that’s part of the reason you’re here.  I just… this seems to me to be a chance to have a wife and a child, things I’ve always dreamed of, in a way.  Well, perhaps not the child part; I hadn’t ever seen myself becoming a father.  But if you’d just let me…”

“Anders,” she warned, starting to lose patience, and he sighed and embraced her again, resting his cheek on the top of her head, nuzzling against her hair.

“Fine.  I’ll hush about it, then.  But please, I ask that you not push me away, Mary.  I’ll be here for you, no matter what.”  He pulled away from her and held her at arm’s length.  “Besides, maybe this is a chance for me to show you that I think of you as something other than just a sex object.”  He grinned, and she grinned in return, and laughed slightly.

“Maker.  You are incorrigible, Messere.”

“I try my best,” he promised.

After that, the tension in the household seemed to lessen, although Fenris was caught glaring balefully at Anders several times, and Anders was caught sending smug sneers in Fenris’s direction.  Hawke decided if they wanted to act like children, she’d let them fight it out on their own, and refused to be pulled into their squabbles.  She was no toy, to be fought over by two silly men.

Hawke had rarely been more glad to see the end of a day, and happily turned the bolt-lock on the door, once she and Fenris had decided to retire.  Anders was not at all pleased with the situation, Merrill was rather oblivious, Orana was disapproving of Anders’s disapproval, and Carver was amused by all the interplay, declaring, at one point, that it was cheaper than the theater.

When it came time to actually get into the bed, she had to coax him to join her on the other side, like one might do a puppy, or like they had been doing with the two kittens they had adopted (who quickly had run of the place and had already caught three mice between them, thereby repaying their investment within the first month) and Fenris reluctantly acquiesced.  Hawke had no desire for any sort of massage or late-night whispering, merely wanting to fall asleep as deeply and solidly as she was able, and with the bed certainly big enough for the two of them to stretch out slightly, she was nearly asleep, as comfortable as she ever was, when Fenris spoke to her, quietly.

“I’m surprised the mage didn’t talk his way into your bed again.”

“That’s none of your business,” she told him.

“Isn’t it?  Perhaps I want to make it my business.”  Suddenly it felt as though she were drowning, with her heart thumping loudly in her chest and her pulse flooding her ears with a rushing sound.

“I’m sorry, did you just say you wanted to make who sleeps in my bed your business?”

He sat up on one elbow and looked at her in the dark.  “What if I did?” he asked, carefully.  “Would you rebel against the idea?”

“I’d be surprised by it,” she admitted.  “Would such a thing come with the ability to steal kisses whenever I liked?”

“Not necessarily.  But…”  He slid out of bed and went to where his clothes were neatly folded on a stack on the dresser, then returned with something she couldn’t quite make out.  Hawke created a mage light and it glowed an eerie white-blue, very similar to Fenris’s markings when he activated them.

“It’s… a ribbon?” she asked, confused. 

“Very astute observation,” he replied, dryly.  “Yes, it’s a ribbon.  I... do not know much about Ferelden customs, in regards to things such as courtship,” he admitted, holding the ribbon out to her.  “But in Tevinter, I know that a red ribbon around one’s wrist marks you as having someone you care about.  Greatly.  In such a fashion.  Although you aren’t married, you might be considered, ah, promised to be promised.  It is great fashion amongst young people who begin walking out.”  He looked slightly uncomfortable in the mage light, and she saw the tell-tale sign of a blush on his cheeks.  “It’s not… it’s not something the upper classes do, of course.  It’s mainly the fashion amongst servants and slaves, those who were allowed to choose their own partners, or whose partners were not objected to by their masters….”

“And you’re giving this to me?”  She cocked her head to the side slightly.  It was red silk, and long enough to wrap around a wrist several times over.

“I… If you wish me to wear it, I will, Marian.”  Again, he ducked his head down, letting his bangs obscure his eyes.

“You would promise yourself to me?”  She paused a moment and cocked her head slightly.  “Didn’t you already wear a red ribbon on your wrist?”

“Yes,” he said, shortly.  “If you do not wish it—“ But she was already tying the ribbon around his wrist, smiling brightly.

“Promised to be promised, then?” she asked him, hurriedly moving past what he might or might not have done before.

“Only if you wish it,” he told her, after the ribbon was secured. 

“Do I get a kiss to seal the deal?” she asked, playfully.

“Only if you wish it,” he repeated, voice quiet and as shy as his countenance.  Hawke leaned towards him and brushed their lips together lightly, her hand resting against his jaw.  He grabbed her wrist suddenly and moved his mouth to it, brushing open-mouthed kisses over her bare skin, moving up her arm to her shoulder.  Hawke gasped suddenly when he nipped at her shoulder through her nightgown, and then his mouth was on hers again and he was pressing her gently down, back against the bed.

Just as quickly he was backing off, pulling away.  “I… apologies,” he said.  “I apologize.”

“No need,” she told him, finding his hand and twining their fingers together.  “Consider me open for kisses at any time.”

“You might regret saying that,” he said, and Hawke reached out to touch the ribbon.

“So can I consider this my Feastday present?”

He shrugged slightly.  “If you wish it.”

“Perhaps we can work up to something else,” she suggested, coyly, and he chuckled slightly and rested his forehead against hers.

“Perhaps we can.  You give me time, and patience, and understanding.  I do not expect those things of anyone, much less…”

“Much less a mage?”

“You are unlike any mage I’ve met.  You are unlike any woman I’ve met.  I’ve said these things before, but they remain true.  You are unique in this world, Marian.  Perhaps I should track Anso down and shower him with gold for finding you for me.” 

She tilted her head so that their lips touched again, briefly.  “I told you, I should have been thanking Anso.”  He laughed again, then settled back into his spot on the bed.

“You do not require a massage tonight?”

“No,” she told him.  “I’ll save up my massage request for tomorrow.  I’ll definitely need it then.  I think… Tonight, I think I just need to sleep,” she said.

“Then sleep, Marian, and wake.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize there is no canon for where the red ribbon comes from, and this is my attempt to justify it. As to why he was wearing it in Chapter One... well, he had already decided some things for himself, even if he wasn't ready to admit it.


	10. Now Close Those Eyes, and Let Me Love You to Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an EXPLICIT chapter, and for adults and grown people only. Do not read this chapter unless you are legally allowed to read adult things in wherever you're at. If you don't like explicit things, you may move on to the next chapter, which isn't so explicit.
> 
> You have been warned *dun dun dun*!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, musical inspiration! This chapter brought to you by Type O Negative. Type O Negative: What 90s goth girls listened to while they were having sex.
> 
> Featured songs include:
> 
> Wolf Moon  
> Be My Druidess  
> Love You To Death  
> Burnt Flowers Falling

The house was full and bustling for the next few days, and there wasn’t even time for Hawke to do her examination with Anders until after Feastday proper was over.  As promised, no one did any pranks on her (except Carver, and he got shouted out of the house by a Hawke who followed him out wielding a frying pan and screaming at the top of her lungs.  The neighbors peeked their heads out, curious, and she knew that there would be rumors and gossip about it once all was said and done, but she had warned the man!)

When time for her examination finally came, Anders was pleased that she finally seemed to be putting on some extra weight, and chalked it up to the fact that they had eaten so much for Feastday and leading up to it.  Everything seemed to be normal and healthy, according to the Healer, who tried to maintain a professional air despite his obvious sadness and disappointment.  He did not miss the ribbon on Fenris’s wrist; none of them did. 

Orana, apparently, already knew the significance of it, and she gasped and tittered and gave Hawke a shy, happy smile when she saw it.  Merrill asked Fenris where he got such a lovely thing, completely missing the significance.  Anders stared at it, angry, then resigned.  Carver blurted out that Fenris shouldn’t be wearing hair ribbons about, and claimed that Hawke would get jealous of whatever woman he had chosen to bed that night if she saw.  Carver’s jaw “accidentally” met Fenris’s fist for that comment, and Orana told them to take it outside while Hawke tried to hide in her little bedroom, ignoring her brother as much as possible. 

Finally, however, Anders was leaving, promising to write when he got back to Kirkwall and promising to return for the seventh month checkup, reminding Hawke of problems to look for, telling her to not pick up anything heavy, to get enough fresh air, and to stay warm.  He did insist on a goodbye kiss, there in her room and, thankfully, not out in front of the house where all and sundry could see her “brother” wishing her goodbye.  She made sure to slip him extra coin, and extracted promises that he would eat properly and care for himself. 

With Anders gone, Hawke tried to pry Carver out of her house, and finally succeeded by promising to have a place ready for him, if he wished, during her ninth month.  Merrill, on the other hand, was welcomed to stay even by Fenris, who understood about women wanting other women around during such times.  Merrill was being passed off as his and Orana’s sister, and most in the town were too ignorant about elves to notice that the three looked absolutely nothing alike, even if you set aside their skin tones.  Merrill was happy enough to trade off sleeping from the bed to the cot with Orana, and second, smaller bed, was expected to be ready for them in a few weeks, for Merrill to use.  Fenris, meanwhile, got the use of his room back, although he seemed reluctant to leave Hawke’s bed, despite the fact that there was nothing going on but sleeping, and that at arm’s length.

He had taken her up on her offers of kisses, on his terms, every now and then cornering her and kissing her shyly when no one else was around.  They were nearly chaste things, more along the lines of him getting used to both the concept and the permission, but from the beginning of her six month and on towards her seventh, they grew more frequent and slightly bolder.  Hawke never rushed him and never asked for more than he was willing to give, and the fact that it was him taking the initiative now gave her hope that he meant it when he gave her his promise to be promised.

It was quite the opposite of how things were usually done.  Most of the other types of courtships she had heard of started out with shy kisses before they wound up in pregnancies.  Before her only night that she was intimate with Fenris, however, he had only held her hand once, and that as shyly as aught else, with apologies for being forward, although it was rather obvious to most of her crew that, at the least, Fenris fancied her.

For the most part, the days began to blend together again, a mixture of various types of chores, along with knitting and sewing, and socializing with neighbors.  She must have been spending too much coin because twice there were attempted break-ins to their home, both of which Fenris put down rather more roughly and extravagantly than he necessarily had to, even without the use of his blade.  Later, they chuckled over it, since that was the most action any of them had seen in months and, truth be told, Hawke was begin to miss it, a little bit.

She corresponded as regularly as she could with Carver, Anders, Varric, and Isabela, as well as writing up letters to be sent wherever Varric happened to be at that time, back to Kirkwall to Aveline and Sebastian.  Aveline was in on their game, but they were all determined to keep Sebastian in the quiet, so the less Aveline was aware of, the better.  She found she missed Aveline greatly; the other woman’s presence in her life had become something of a rock, a steadying force, like an aunt who was slightly older than herself, or perhaps an older cousin.  It was good to write to her, even if the letters did take a long time to go secondhand, and it was good to see that her relationship with Donnic was coming along nicely.  Aveline was, surprisingly, a romantic at heart, and it was wonderful to see that she had found someone she was willing to share her life with again. 

The small, second bed for the room Merrill and Orana now shared was created and delivered before Anders’s arrival for the seventh month checkup, and, because it was just Anders there alone, there was no need to shuffle anyone around with sleeping arrangements.  Fenris still wound up sleeping in the room with Hawke, however, as the two men still detested each other, and Anders had not, apparently, decided to give up on his pursuit of Hawke, red-ribboned wrist or no red-ribboned wrist.  Hawke was slightly exasperated with that, but so long as Anders remained professional during the examinations she said nothing about it, and Fenris managed to contain his ire.  Again Anders only stayed a few days, promising to return for the eighth month checkup and reminding the entire household that, at the ninth month, he would be coming to stay until the baby arrived. 

By her seventh month, Hawke felt she could not physically grow any larger.  The dresses she wore ballooned ridiculously over her middle, and it seemed to feel like the baby moved constantly.  Fenris, Merrill, and Orana all three seemed to take a special sort of delight in feeling her stomach, especially catching those movements, but Hawke, by that time, was well over the novelty.  The movements were interfering with her sleep, and the dreams she was having were full of sexual frustration. 

The dreams.  _Oh_ , the dreams.  Every time she fell asleep, even for short naps, she had _the dreams_ , some of which woke her in a much more pleasant manner than others, but all of them leaving her feeling slightly empty and lonely.  While Anders was there, she started to regret not sharing his bed, solely for the physical comfort.  One look at Fenris’s jealous face timed appropriately with one of those thoughts, however, and she took the regret back urgently.  Fenris would get there, she hoped, sometime before she died of old age.

With the beginning of winter and the beginning of her seventh month came Satinalia and the first snows of the year.  Her little garden had gone dormant, everything harvested that was harvestable, and her little apple trees, but their root cellar was well-stocked and Grunding was well-situated to receive shipments and caravans passing from the Free Marches into Nevarra and Orlais, so there was no worry about a shortage of food. 

Fortunately, there weren’t going to be as many there for Satinalia, and thus the household did not run itself ragged trying to please everyone who was there.  Besides, Hawke thought to herself, Satinalia was usually a holiday for drunken excesses, and she felt no desire to be drunken or do anything to excess at all.  They simply enjoyed their visitor (Anders, and for the most part) and the light dusting of snow, and a little bit of wine.

It was midway through the seventh month when Hawke found herself, again, looking at her profile in the mirror, turning this way and that, amazed at how large her stomach had gotten.  She couldn’t see her feet.  Her breasts were enormous –not just for her, but for anyone!—and there were silvery stretch marks over her abdomen and chest.  Even her thighs, what she could see of them in the mirror, had the stretch marks. 

She didn’t realize she was crying until the hot tears spilled across her cheeks.  Hawke brushed them away viciously, but they continued to fall.  Why was she crying?  All pregnant women got such things.  It was ridiculous.  She should stop this nonsense and…

And she was leaned against her dresser, one hand holding her up, and tears were falling freely.  She was beginning to sob now, and her face turning blotchy under the freckles, her nose running.  A slight knock sounded at the door, and then Fenris’s voice asking if she were well.

“I’m… I’m fine.  It’s.. I’m fine,” she answered, in between sobs.

“I know you are not, Mary,” he responded.

“I’m _fine_ ,” she insisted, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, then yelching at that and using one of her handkerchiefs to clean herself up better.

“Mary, I am coming in,” he told her, a split second before he opened the door and, indeed, came in.

There was no great jumping this time, or embarrassment.  He simply looked over her nude, crying form, before gathering her into his arms and making shushing sounds, gently rocking her against him. 

“I do not know why you are crying,” he told her, “but tell me, and it is done.”

“You can’t fix this,” she told him, resting her cheek against his shoulder, her body held at an odd angle to his, to make room for her stomach.

“I do not see anything to fix,” he admitted.  “Perhaps if you told me?”  His hands rubbed her bare back gently, and she shook her head against him and pressed her face against his neck.  He smelled of incense and lyrium and winter; he must have been outside recently.  “Mary.”  Again, she said nothing.  “Marian Hawke,” he said, a teasingly warning tone to his voice.  “You must tell me.”

“I’d tell you if I could,” she said.  “I don’t know what’s wrong.  I just… started crying.”

“Ah.  Did Anders not warn you that might happen sometimes?”  She pulled back away from him and looked into his face, and he found her another handkerchief to use.

“I think he might have, actually.”

“Is crying for no reason better than being cross with me for no reason?”

“No,” she admitted.  “I’d rather be in control of my feelings, quite honestly.”  It was then that Fenris seemed to realize that he was holding a naked Hawke, and, instead of jumping away, or finding a blanket to wrap her in, his hands moved down lower onto her hips, his fingers caressing her rear, and his gaze dropped lower as well, his pupils dilating slightly.

“Hawke,” he murmured, and then he kissed her neck, very gently and slowly.  She inhaled sharply, nearly a gasp, more of surprise than anything else, and her fingers tightened against him.  His mouth trailed up to her ear slowly and he drew her against him just a little bit more firmly.

“Fenris,” she murmured, placing a hand behind his head to encourage him to do as he would.  “Not that I mind, but…the bed, maybe?”

“I… the bed,” he said, and then stood still, nearly as if he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Only if you want to,” she added, hurriedly.

“I seem to be poor about making decisions about my life, Hawke,” he told her, holding her still but not letting go, not running away.  “Is this… are you sure?”

“About you?  Maker, yes.  If I weren’t, I could be anywhere else.  I could have Anders here right—“ He shut her up with a kiss, gently backing her against the edge of the bed.

“Is this safe?” he asked, suddenly shy and unsure.  “It… wouldn’t hurt the babe?”

“It’s fine,” she told him.  “Just… maybe a bit awkward?”  She smiled ruefully, and it was her turn to be shy.

“I think I’ll manage, somehow,” he replied, dryly, and then he was brushing their lips together, caressing one hand up and down over her hip, the other one moving up her body to a bare breast.  Hawke crawled back, getting better purchase on the bed, and Fenris followed hungrily, seeming to not be able to get enough of her.  His eyes roamed her, and his mouth tasted her here and there, and his hands seemed everywhere, as if he were trying to make up for lost time.

“Your breasts,” he said, after a few moments.

“Is something wrong?”

He took one nipple into his mouth and suckled on it, palming underneath the breast with his hand, hefting it slightly.  He nipped first with lips and then teeth, pulling it gently, and Hawke moaned and fell back against the bed, the fingers of her right hand digging their nails sharply into his arm through his shirt.

“There is nothing wrong with them,” he said, once his exploration was complete.  “They are larger than they were.” He laid a kiss between them, and replaced his exploring mouth with his fingers.  “Your breasts were nice as they were, and as they are now.  They are something I’ve wanted to cherish, since…”  He shook his head, the shaggy locks brushing against her skin, and took the other nipple into his mouth.  His free hand roamed over her stomach and dipped down between her thighs.  He brushed his knuckles over the tight, soft curls on her mound, and then he was urging her legs apart so that he could run one finger over her slit.

Hawke was lost to the sensations.  They seemed nearly overwhelming, coming all at once as they were, and so unexpected, after her emotional outburst.  She wanted… she wanted… she did not know what she wanted, but it involved him wearing fewer clothing, so she tugged at his shirt, indicating she wanted him to take it off.  He pulled away from her other nipple with a sound of protest, only to pull the shirt off and discard it on the floor, and went right back to enjoying the feel and taste of her breasts.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she said, and he huffed a gentle laugh against her bare skin.

“That is a cliché, or so I’ve been told,” he informed her, but obligingly stood and unbuckled his belt while she watched, enraptured, and then unlaced his trousers, to stand there only in his smallclothes, which were quickly discarded as well.  Hawke couldn’t help but trace the lyrium tattoos with her eyes, down swirling from his chest to his abdomen, down his thighs.  He was beautiful, even without the tattoos, a sculptured work of art, but the tattoos were a work of art in themselves.

“You’re… you’re so handsome,” she told him, and he licked his tongue against her lips, leaning over her, his erection pressing against her hip.

“So you’ve said,” he managed, after a moment.  “But you can’t tell me you only favor me because of my looks.”

“Not only,” she quipped, and nipped quickly as his ear.  Fenris closed his eyes and sighed happily, tilting his head to give her better access to it, so she obliged and nipped and kisses and licked her way up it while his fingers kneaded against the flesh of her thigh and breast. 

“Does it feel that good?” she asked him, and he made a hum of appreciation before answering.

“Elven ears are very sensitive.  Not just for hearing.  It feels… it is nearly as good as when you used your mouth on me,” he answered, honestly, and she could feel his cock twitch against her leg as he remembered.

“I could do it again, if you wished,” she said, slipping her hand over his bare chest and down to his length.  It was his turn to gasp and sigh, his eyes half-closing and his mouth hanging openly slightly.  She curled her fingers around him and ran her hand over him in a sort of twisting motion, capturing that first bead of pre-cum and smearing it over him as she did.  His hips jerked towards her, involuntarily, and his head dipped back down to her breasts, pressing kisses against first one, then the other. 

“No, this… this feels too good,” he said.  “If you do this too much, I will not last long.”

“What’s the problem with that?  I won’t mind,” she assured him, increasing the pace of her twisting hand.  He gasped sharply and pulled his hips back and away from her.

“I want this to last,” he said, in protest.  “I want to be inside you again.  I have dreamed of that for months.  I can remember our one night like it was yesterday, Marian.  I do not want to spoil that memory by arriving too soon.”

“Then… I have an idea,” she, said, and managed to somehow get up on her knees, pulling him onto the bed and behind her.  Abruptly, Fenris slid his arms around her, underneath her breasts, and nuzzled his face against the back of her neck.  Hawke spread her legs apart, her knees on either side of his lap, and leaned back against him.  He found the spot where her neck and shoulder met and pressed soft kisses against it until suddenly he bit down, grinding his erection up against her bottom.  Hawke raised herself up on her knees a little bit, taking him into her hand and guiding him to her entrance, and then slid down onto him in short, jerky movements.  Immediately, Fenris cried out, a gasping sob of pleasure, and pulled her tighter against him while thrusting himself up inside of her.

It felt… it felt… It felt like relief, like freedom, this wonderful-being-full-feeling.  It was so different, with Fenris, than it had been with Anders; Fenris wasn’t as experienced, but neither was she, and it didn’t matter.  They could learn together.  She held herself steady with one hand holding the arm he had around her, and slid her other hand down to between her legs, to roughly rub up against the sensitive nub there.  A quick jolt of pleasure ran through her and she raised herself up a little bit on him again.  With a sound of protest, and a slight growl, Fenris pulled her back down against him roughly, thrust up and forward into her.

Hawke lost her balance just slightly, falling forward and catching herself easily with her elbows, her rear in the air.  Fenris followed her, going to his knees behind her and thrusting in again, both hands on her hips now and pulling her against him with each thrust.  Each time, Hawke made a little sound, an “oh!” or an “ah!” interspersed with his name, hands fisting into the blanket.  His hands gripped her, blunt nails digging into her paler flesh, his hands moving from her hips to her bottom and back, down her thighs.  He slid one hand between her legs and tweaked that sensitive little bundle of nerves there gently, which caused her to moan and bite down on her fingers.

“Don’t,” he told her.  “I want to hear you.”  So she let him, although she tried to be somewhat quiet, for the sake of the others in their house, panting and moaning as he took her, pressing her forehead down against the bed and thrusting herself against him, grinding herself down against his hand.  Another sharp jolt went through her and suddenly she was coming, harder than she ever had, calling his name, babbling words of affection, begging him to stop, to keep going.  Within seconds, he was crashing into her, her name leaving his lips in a loud cry of his own, his body half-slumping over hers before he slid from her and fell back against the bed, pulling her down against him.

“Fenris,” she murmured, and he blinked several times, shaking his head.  “Are you okay?  It didn’t hurt, did it?”

“It did not,” he agreed, and pressed his cheek against her upper back.  “I… there were some memories, that is all, but I was prepared, this time.”  His hand curved down around her belly and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. 

“Are you sure?  I… If this was too much and too fast…”

“I am sure, Marian,” he told her, pulling her against him with an arm between her breasts and her stomach.  “I am sure.  I am where I want to be, now,” he promised.

“If you’re sure.”

“Well, perhaps under the blankets would be a better place,” he conceded.  She laughed and they wrestled around with getting the blanket over them, and he curled up against her back, brushing over her belly again possessively.

“And you are sure that did not hurt anything?” he asked, sounding worried.

“I’m sure.  I promise.”

He murmured something, nuzzling against the back of her neck, brushing her hair out of the way to kiss on her again, and Hawke found herself drifting off to sleep, more satisfied and relieved than she had felt in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shorter chapter. I thought this one needed to be by itself. The other chapters are averaging between 4,000 and 5,000 words, and the next one will be no different.
> 
> Also, *finally* good grief!


	11. Special Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains semi-graphic descriptions of childbirth and the aftermath. Only semi-graphic, however. Viewer discretion is advised.

It could not have been more than an hour that they slumbered there together, sated and happy, and they probably would have slept longer still had Orana and Merrill not come into the room, frantic to find either of them, their gasps of shock and tittering giggles waking both of them.

Hawke sat up lazily, blinking owlishly, but Fenris grumbled and lay back, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Oh, Mistress!” Orana exclaimed, sharing a look with Merrill, covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers.  “I wasn’t aware that you and Messere Fenris…”

“Oh, lethallan, I am happy for you!” Merrill said, veritably jumping up and down.

“Be happy elsewhere?  I need to get dressed,” Hawke said.

“Of course, lethallan!” Merrill chirped, and Orana added hasty agreement.  The door shut quickly behind them, but Hawke knew the two women were gossiping and giggling like crazy.

“I’m sorry about that, Fenris,” she began, turning to him slowly, but he shook his head and drew her down against him for a rough kiss.

“There is nothing to be sorry for,” he told her.  He smiled slightly and brushed a lock of strawberry blonde hair out of her face.  “I will be glad when your hair is back to its normal shade.  And your eyes.  You are beautiful no matter what, but I prefer your original look,” he told her.

“You’re not unhappy about…?”

“Nothing will keep me from you any longer,” he assured her, threading his fingers through her hair, his eyes searching her face.  “Not even my own foolishness and cowardice.  Not even a cold room and a waiting meal,” he added, with slightly more humor and causing her to chuckle.

“It _is_ cold,” she agreed.  “Best to get dressed now.” 

They busied themselves with putting their clothing on, his back, in his case, and hers on for the day, including thick socks to help protect cold toes in a cold house.  They were hampered in dressing, slightly, by Fenris’s desire to kiss every part of her before allowing her to clothe that part; it took them the better part of an hour, and by the time they were done, Fenris was quite ready to ravish her again, tossing his belt aside in the direction of the standing mirror and knocking it slightly askew and only pulling his pants down enough so that he could take her again.

By the time they got out of the room, finally, breakfast had gone completely cold and Orana refused to heat any of it back up.  So, Hawke heated it on her own, for the both of them, not that toast and bacon truly needed heating much more.  Orana and Merrill took extra care to busy themselves around the kitchen and give the two of them pointed looks and sharing many giggles, to the point where Hawke felt herself blushing like crazy.  It’s not like they were even caught doing anything inappropriate!  They weren’t even caught!  And they were having a baby together; it’s not like they hadn’t done such activities before.  Soon, in her own head, she was spluttering about how they were grown adults, and it was her own house, and if she wanted to engage in such activities in her own house, she was _bloody_ _well_ able to do so.

Soon, Fenris cornering her for stolen, shy kisses, changed into him cornering her for more passionate ones, and that, eventually, led to more than just kisses.  A few times Orana and Merrill had walked in on them, one memorable time on the kitchen table, another embarrassing time on the sofa.  Fenris still kept his things in his room, but he spent the rest of his nights in Hawke’s room.  This served a dual purpose, and a good one; the nights were steadily getting colder, and even leaving the bedroom door open to the heat of the hearth in the sitting room and the oven going in the kitchen, as well as to two kittens who enjoyed foot wrestling more than foot warning, did little to warm up the house.  Sharing the blankets with someone else was a more reliable way of staying warm, and she knew that Orana and Merrill had pushed the two beds together to do similarly upstairs, although they were, obviously, not sharing the blankets the same way Hawke and Fenris were.

By the time Anders arrived for the eighth month examination, there was no question of where Fenris would be sleeping, and where Anders would.  As expected, Anders did not take this turn of events very well, cornering Hawke himself to question her over her choices.

“Are you sure about this, Mary?” he asked her, when Fenris had gone out the first day of his arrival.  “I mean, Fenris seems less like a man and more of a wild dog.  What if he were to lose his temper and hurt you?”

“You mean, hurt me, as if he were rescuing me from, say, templars, and then tried to kill me?”

“Maker’s breath, Mary, you know how I feel about that already—“

“I think you should let me make decisions about my own love life, Anders.”  She laid a hand on his shoulder affectionately, but only the friendly sort.  “I appreciate you caring about me like you do, but… He’s the father of my child, and I love him.  I’ve loved him a while now, even before… Well, all of this.  I want us to be together, and it’s what he seems to want, too.”

Anders looked at her sadly, and Hawke suppressed a sigh.  She was tired of having the same conversation over and over with the man.  He refused to accept her choices were her own.

“Why don’t you find a nice girl, Anders?  I know there are plenty who would be glad to give you the time of day.  You’re handsome, and funny, and you do good work in Darktown.”

“Oh yes.  The penniless apostate mage is certainly a real catch,” he said, scuffling his booted feet against the floor, glaring at his toes resentfully. 

“You don’t know him like I do,” Hawke insisted.  “He _is_ a good catch, if he’d allow himself to be caught.”

“I don’t want anyone but you, Marian,” he said, forcefully.  “Only you.  Since the first time I saw you, I wanted you.  I tried fighting it, but…  Even though Justice disapproves and fights me on it, I’ve done everything I can for you.  I’ve made these trips for you—“

“You didn’t have to!” she objected, but Anders rolled right over her.

“ –everything for you, and I’d drown the entire world in blood to keep you safe.  I just wish…”  He scoffed and plucked at his overcoat ineffectually.  “I suppose what I wish doesn’t matter anymore, does it?  Well, I will still be here when Fenris decides to leave again, and I will be here to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart.”

“Don’t say things like that,” she scolded.  “You don’t know Fenris like I know him.”

“I know him about as well as I want to,” Anders said, coldly.  “He doesn’t let anyone but you close.

“You know me as well as you’re going to, mage,” Fenris said, surprising Hawke and making her jump a little bit.  “Now leave off Hawke.  The only one causing her any distress around here right now is you.”  He turned to Hawke and his eyes softened immediately.  “You need to lie down and rest, Mary.  It will be for the best for you and the baby.”

Hawke rolled her eyes before glaring between the two men.  “I’m not made of porcelain,” she told them, but went to lie down as _suggested_ , because, truth be told, she was getting a bit tired, and putting her feet up was one of the best ways to keep them from hurting too much during the day.

Of course, neither of them left her alone to _rest_ , as she was _instructed_ to do.  First Anders knocked on her bedroom door, insisting on apologizing and giving her a short little examination right there, checking her pulse and her eyes.  Then Fenris barged in and barked a warning at the mage, who made excuses to leave quickly.  When Hawke gave Fenris a sharp, disappointed look, Fenris merely fidgeted and muttered something too low for her to hear before leaving her to her resting.

Hawke was relieved when Anders left, but felt trepidation when he reminded them, again, that he would be returning in a month and staying to the end of the pregnancy.  His time there had been particularly stressful for the entire household, and it caused strain on the new relationship between Hawke and Fenris that she, especially did not appreciate.  She had promised Anders that they would always be friends, no matter what, but if he kept trying to separate the two of them, kept trying to instill doubt in her heart where none should be, Hawke would wind up cutting off her association with him.  She _loved_ Fenris, and she knew that Fenris loved her, and she wasn’t going to let something as silly as Anders’s jealousy come between the two of them.  Hopefully, she thought, he would give up soon, especially when the baby actually got there. 

It was much harder for Hawke to get around, in general, during her eighth month.  Her feet and hands were swollen slightly, and her face felt swollen as well, all things Anders told her to take care about.  She sat and kept her feet elevated as much as possible, which meant she really had time to do little other than sewing knitting.  It reached the point where her feet no longer fit into her boots _or_ her shoes, which alarmed Fenris greatly, and rather than suffer going to the cobbler to have new made, Hawke simply shuffled around in socks and stockings.  With winter fully upon them, it was much too cold and snowy for her to be trekking around outside with only socks or stockings, and so Hawke was feeling keenly that condition known as “Cabin Fever,” from being stuck inside too much.  Her mood got snappish again, and she wound up arguing with Fenris most of all.  For his part, Fenris did not take the arguing well, giving as good as he got and telling her constantly that she was insufferable.  However, once he had decided his place was in her bed, he stayed there, even if it meant they went to bed with their backs to each other, angry, several times.

Anders arrived the last day of Haring, as they were preparing for First Day, in Wintermarch.  The household had been stocking up on various types of libations throughout the month, and Orana had spent most of the last two days making small cakes to give out to children as well as adults who came around visiting.  Hawke outwardly lamented her inability to wear shoes, because it meant they wouldn’t get to go around to see others, but inwardly crowed at it, because it meant she didn’t have to trek around Grunding in the cold and the snow, with nearly nine months’ worth of baby resting in her womb.  Instead, she could stay home and welcome others, giving out a drink and kiss, and a cake to the little ones, as was custom throughout all of Thedas.

Merrill was quite excited to be celebrating her actual first First Day.  The alienage back in Kirkwall celebrated it, true, but most of the people there tended to ignore Merrill at the best of times.  Here in Grunding, she was considered part of the household and thus she would get the kiss and drink if she were to go around to others, and she got to give them out there in the homestead herself.  Anders was more quiet and reserved, wearing his hurt out on his sleeve a little bit more obviously than he ought to have been doing, to play the part of the brother, but, thankfully, a few quiet words the day after First Day and Anders was, if not acting completely proper, less _obvious_ about his affections. 

A handful of days after the first of the year, Carver came, ostensibly to stay until the birthing actually happened.  That put the templar and the apostate in one room, Merrill and Orana in another room, and Fenris sharing Hawke’s bed in the third room, although that much had been going on for two months, at that point.  At one point, Hawke had entertained the idea of asking some of her friends to move into her estate with her.  The house was large, and lonely, for the most part.  However, with the little Grunding house so full of people (and one of those people very largely pregnant, and there only being one privy) Hawke soon wondered if she was crazy after all, to have entertained the idea.  Having Merrill there to help Orana was wonderful, of course, and having Fenris there to… well, just _be_ Fenris, she supposed, was also wonderful, but having Carver and Anders there was a nightmare, and she was sincerely hoping that the mage would decide to not spend a lot of time in the guest room she had invited him to stay in back in Kirkwall.  Hawke hoped fervently that things would settle down more once the baby arrived, and that her life would go back to being something more along a shade of normal, including her ability to handle stress and her emotions.  When she brought up the idea to Anders, however, he had just laughed and told her she was “in for it.” 

It was starting to seem like most of her days were spent in a sort of slog: overly-long, and full of several naps.  Some days, she felt like she could barely keep her eyes open.  Hawke’s energy was just absolutely drained, even with Rejuvenation spells by herself and Anders (Merrill could barely manage small Healing spells and thus was left out of anything more than small cuts or burns) and Fenris became rather possessive of her nap time, refusing to let anyone make much sound at all.  It got to a point where the others in the house decided to lie down along with Hawke, and for several days running everyone napped in the afternoon, except for Fenris, who remained awake and alert in case Hawke needed anything.  Anders joked that they were all “stocking up” on their sleep for when the babe arrived.

Between her already thin patience and the fact that she had to deal with fighting between Fenris and Anders, Fenris and Carver, and Anders and Carver, as well as arguing with Carver herself, Hawke found herself on the verge of tears on a near hourly basis, and it got so bad that she wound up locking herself in her room several times simply to have a bit of quiet and peace.  She locked Fenris out overnight, once, and was irritated to discover that he had somehow managed to get himself back into the room overnight and was sleeping, curled up, on her bed, although far enough away from her to not cause her to wake unduly from sleep. 

It was little wonder, then, that her birthing pains started earlier than was expected.  They began in the afternoon of 10 Wintermarch, 9:35 Dragon; just simple cramping pains, at first, that came at irregular intervals and did not last terribly long.  Anders gave her a cursory examination and then, patting her on the shoulder companionably, told her that she might still have a ways to go before giving birth and to not expect anything more.  Since he wasn’t going anywhere, she didn’t have to fear him being away when they got worse, but he did tell her to not jump at every single pain, and to try to stay relaxed as much as possible, as well as get as much walking around done as she felt up to doing.

The pains themselves were nothing she, who had taken the Arishok’s blade to her gut, couldn’t handle, but Fenris was the one who was truly concerned over them.  He fussed over her like it was the first time she had ever felt pain, and he refused to leave her side for more than a few moments until she practically yelled the house down at him, telling him to leave her be for just a little while.  Hurt, he did as she asked, and was only mollified when Anders, of all people, took him aside and told him to think nothing of Hawke’s ill temper or yelling for the next little bit. 

“Elf, it’s nothing personal,” Anders said, exasperated, when Fenris refused to believe him.  “This is something that’s normal for birthing mothers.  At least she hasn’t threatened to fireball you.  Yet.  That will come later.”

“Is there nothing you can do for her pain?” he asked the mage, clearly distressed.

“I think you’re more worried about it than she is.  Stop worrying; birthing pain is normal and a sign that things are going the way they should be.  It would be harder for her to deliver if she couldn’t feel the pain.  If she needs it, I’ve got a tea that I can mix up that will make her feel slightly groggy, and the pain will be lessened, but she will still be able to push and such when needed.  However, Hawke is strong, and you do her no favors by treating her as if she’s weak.”

“But—“

“But me no buts, Fenris.  My suggestion to you is that you brush aside anything she says unless she’s asking you to do something you know you can do.”  Anders eyed him with a smug grin.  “At least it’s you and not me, I suppose.”

The night of the 11th, her water broke while she was sleeping.  It woke both Fenris and herself up most dramatically, and Hawke was in tears while Fenris went to get Anders and wake Orana to help change the bedding.  For her part, all she could do was stand and pace and cry, and Merrill, also awakened by the commotion, held her hand and made soothing sounds at her.  There were dark circles under Hawke’s eyes and her face looked exceedingly pale.  The activity soon woke up Carver, and the entire household was up and awake by the early morning of the 12th, with the men bickering and arguing as they had done before, Merrill pacing with Hawke, and Orana readying as much hot water as she thought anyone would need, including for tea. 

By the time the true birthing pains started, it was working towards noon of the 12th, and Anders was in and out of Hawke’s room, accessing the situation.

“There’s not much we can do until she’s far enough along to deliver,” he told the rest of the household.  “She’s in pain and, since it’s her first, she’s nervous.  The best thing we can do is to keep her as comfortable as possible.  If she wants to walk around, it’s okay if she does.  If she wants to sit, or read, or knit, or whatever, that’s fine, although I truly doubt she’ll want to do any of those things.”

“Does she need me?” Fenris asked, tentatively, and with great trepidation. 

“Not right now.  But if she asks for you, I’ll let you know.  For the time being, though, Fenris, you and Carver stay out and leave her alone.  Orana, your help is much appreciated, and I suppose I can’t keep Merrill out; Hawke actually seems to be enjoying her presence in there.”  Fenris glowered at that.  The blood mage was more welcome than himself?  But then Anders went on, “I suppose it would be Bethany, or Leandra, if either of them were alive.  Or perhaps Aveline, if she were here.  Merrill’s the closest thing she’s got to female kin, and women do like having their female kin around during childbirth, in my experience.” That mollified him, but only somewhat.

Fenris would not admit that he panicked, just slightly, when Anders finally told him and Carver that it had truly begun and they were best helping by staying _out_ and leaving the rest of them be, but he did.  A little.  He paced, and when Hawke cried out in pain he instinctively tried to go to her.  Even Carver looked worried, drawn and somewhat pale.  It galled, knowing that she was going through something that they would both, at best, be in the way for. 

For her part, Hawke tried to do as Anders instructed her.  Anders: that wonderful, calm man, who took all her curses and threats in stride. 

“Breath in, Hawke.  Breath out, Hawke.”

“Hawke, squat slightly, and then push until I tell you to stop.”

“Hawke, that’s not going to get us anywhere.”

“Hawke, that’s not anatomically feasible.”

“Hawke, you’ll change your mind about him once this is over.”

“Hawke, I’m sure that Fenris rather needs those parts…”

And with a lot of pain, and rather a lot of fluids she didn’t want to think about, and with a great feeling of relief, there she was, kneeling over her baby, held in Anders’s protective hands. 

“A girl, Hawke, just like you said.”  Anders sounded as proud as anything, and Hawke gazed at her.  She was… just like every other infant, Hawke imagined.  Wrinkled and red, and covered with all sorts of yuck, including some sort of whitish stuff that Anders quickly assured her would wash off soon.  Orana had run off to fetch the small wooden tub to fill with water at just the right temperature, to wash the baby off, and in the meantime, Anders walked her through delivering the afterbirth, which wasn’t as wondrous as delivering the child, by any means, but as vital.

The little girl squalled and cried as Orana’s gentle hands rubbed her down in the warm water, and Hawke sniffled, herself, as Merrill helped her clean up the blood and et ceteras that covered her, and helped her into fresh clothing afterwards.  Hawke felt all kinds of tender in her more private regions, and sore and tired overall, and her breasts were aching.  Before too long, she was propped up on the bed, as comfortable as she could be, with her night gown drawn down and the small girl learning how to latch onto the breast.  Merrill was braiding back Hawke’s long, freshly-brushed hair, and Orana was cleaning up the leftover mess that was on the floor, already planning on how best to clean up the quilt that the delivery took place on. 

Fenris continued his pacing and kept trying to look in the room, and finally, after everything was cleaned up and Hawke was still trying to figure out how best to feed her child, Anders told him he could go in and meet his daughter.

He had never felt more shy, ever, standing there beside Hawke.  Hawke, holding a baby, _his_ baby.  She was still red and wrinkled, but her skin was going to be dark, like his, and her hair was a shock of jet black, and more of it than he was expecting.  She was… tiny.  So small, and with eyes that were a blurry sort of blue when they finally opened, crossing slightly.  He stood there in awe, watching the two of them, and Hawke had to say his name thrice before he shook himself and focused on her.

“You are not injured?” he asked Hawke, suddenly keenly worried over her health.

“I’m bloody tired, is what I am,” she confessed.  “And I have to admit, I thought I wouldn’t have as much of a belly as I seem to have.”  She grimaced at the still-rounded stomach she had and moved the babe around in her arms, as if trying to get into a more comfortable position.  “Anders told me I’d figure this out no problem, but so far I can’t seem to get her to latch worth anything, and my breasts feel… odd.”

“A… a girl, then,” he said, uselessly.  Useless, useless. 

“Yes.  I thought you caught that the first few times it was said.”  She smiled at him mischievously and he managed the weakest and smallest of smiles in return.  So small, so frail.  He would surely break her if he were to hold her.

“What are you naming her?”

“I… if Carver is of a mind, I was thinking of naming her Bethany.”

“That is a good name,” Fenris agreed, more to be saying something than because he truly registered what was being said. 

“Can you think of another name?  It’s traditional that Ferelden children, at least, have a middle name as well as the first and the last.  You’re her father, so…”

Fenris shook his head, still looking in awe at the two of them.  “If you wish a middle name, I have nothing to add.  Perhaps… you should name her after your mother?”

“Hmm.  Bethany Leandra Hawke.  It’s pretty,” she said, giving Fenris a smile that shot a jolt of happiness through him.  He recoiled from the happiness, afraid to go near it lest he be burned from how brightly it glowed.  Was this… was he in the Fade?  Truly, this could not be happening to him.  After a moment, Hawke huffed a sigh and gentle jostled the baby away from her left breast and up to her right.  “Maker, I don’t know what I’m doing.  But I think Carver would appreciate her better, and me, after I’ve at least tried this, don’t you think?”

“I don’t mind,” he said, numbly, and it was true.  Watching Hawke feed their child was so surreal and welcome that he thought his heart might burst out of his chest.

“You can hold her after I’m done,” she promised him, and he felt his stomach drop.

“Is that wise?  What if I drop her?”

Hawke laughed, lightly.  “I said the same thing to Anders.  You can sit on the bed by me, and if you drop her, she’ll just fall a little ways.  Does that sound sufficient?”

“I… I do not know how to be a father, Marian,” Fenris said, all in a rush.

“I’m not sure it’s something you either know or you don’t, Fenris.  I think it’s something you have to learn, by practicing.”

Merrill spoke up then, and Fenris was shocked to remember that she was still in the room.  “You didn’t learn swording overnight, Fenris, and you won’t learn this overnight, either.  But I daresay you’ll be as good at fathering as you are a swording.  Just so long as you don’t try to take off heads with the babe, that is.”

“It never crossed my mind,” he replied, dryly. 

“I think she’s just not hungry,” Hawke complained, then gestured for Fenris to join her on the bed.  “C’mon…your turn to hold your daughter.” 

Fenris crept towards the bed, his heart fluttering in his chest, then sat down next to Hawke, trying to maintain a secure position.  The transfer of the baby was somewhat awkward, this being the first time Fenris had ever done any such thing, and the two of them together, no less.  Hawke seemed to be afraid to let the baby go, and Fenris seemed to be afraid to accept her, but after a moment he was holding the tiny, warm bundle in his arms, eyes looking over her face.  She looked so… human.  He an elf, and Hawke a human, and in his arms was a human baby.  There would be nothing to denote the fact that he was the father, he thought, somewhat sadly.  She could be the human child of any other human.  That she was his was something they alone would know.  Of course, that she was going to be passed off as Hawke’s adopted daughter was something else to be considered…

“Do you like her?” Hawke asked, and bit her lower lip.

“I… ‘like’ is insufficient, Marian,” Fenris said, unable to take his eyes off the small form.  He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and inhaled; she smelled like… like… she smelled like she _belonged_ to him, more than anything ever in his life. 

“Well, I guess that means we’re keeping her, then.”  Fenris looked up at her, sharply, and Hawke chuckled.  “It’s a joke, Fenris.  Remember those?”

“A joke.  Yes,” he replied, looking back down at his daughter.  Bethany Leandra Hawke. 

 


	12. That First Date After, Tho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke gets used to having a baby, and the family travels by ship to Ostwick, where they meet up with Isabela and Varric for the first time in almost a year. Hawke and Fenris get shoved into a first "date" after the baby is born. EXPLICIT SCENES ENSUE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an explicit chapter. Do not read this if you are against such things, or are not of age in the place where you live to read such things. It's got adult situations and adult language and naughty bits, but not much nudity involved, and you have been warned.
> 
> Viewer discretion is advised.

Anders told Hawke to not panic, when her milk came in at no more than a trickle that first day, and was thin and nearly clear on top of it.  He told her that was normal, and that there was nothing wrong with her, and that _of course_ she would be able to feed little Bethy, and that she was a good mother and things would work out just fine.  And because Anders told her all these things, Hawke dismissed them immediately and fretted and worried and tried, again and again, to get little Bethy to latch properly and fully.  She used hot compresses on her breasts to try to get the milk flowing properly, and was even in the middle of talking Carver into going around town, looking for a nursing nanny goat for milk, when Anders finally stopped her and sent her back to her bed, to lie down and relax and get what sleep she could.

Hawke’s memories of that first week were rather a blur.  It was separated into two periods: the baby was crying, and the baby was not crying.  When the baby cried, she tried to make her stop.  Sometimes this meant warm, soothing baths, and sometimes it meant nappy changes, and sometimes it meant breastfeeding (which Hawke personally considered to be ineffectual and Anders, checking the babe’s health daily, considered to be right on target) and sometimes it meant whispering “hush, hush little one” over and over, forgetting every single song her mother sang to her as a child.  Sometimes it meant passing the babe to Fenris, who was even more unsure of what to do than Hawke, but whose fumbling was equally effective.  They both treated little Bethy as if she were some hereto unknown, mysterious creature, much to the amusement of all the others in the household and any visiting neighbors who stopped by to congratulate the new mother (the father, of course, was assumed to have perished many months beforehand.)

She slept in the small cradle that was next to Hawke’s side of the bed, and Hawke tried to sleep when she did, but found that to be ineffective.  Despite Anders pestering her to sleep and rest as much as possible, she found herself quite taken with the idea of cleaning, which caused Anders to laugh and explain to her that it was just the nesting, taking her a little late, as it were.  Hawke hated convalescing periods, times when it was best for her to stay in bed and rest, and she didn’t appreciate this time any more, either, even when her body was screaming for her to just sit and be for a while, and when her emotions were playing havoc with her, causing her to sit in the tub of water in the washing room and cry for at least half an hour at how horrible a mother she was being. 

Another thing that Hawke truly hated was getting used to nursing.  Her nipples got to the point where they even _bled_ because of the irritation, and the feel of her breastband against her breasts could be enough to bring her to tears of pain, even with soothing, gentle Healing and warm cloths put over them.  It took several weeks before the irritation went away and the odd heaviness that seemed to press against them lessened any. 

But before a month had passed, she began getting the hang of things, and so did Fenris.  Paperwork and notices were sent off towards Rivain, where she was relatively certain Isabela and Varric were, to be added to forgeries.  Forgeries, with just enough truth that anyone who truly went looking for the records could possibly trace them.  Another two months and they would be headed back to Kirkwall by way of Ostwick again, which meant finding a ship near a small harbor village near them and sailing around.  Possible to do, easy to do.  Hawke _missed_ Kirkwall like she didn’t expect to.  She missed doing her good works, and realized, with a start, that she had been away nearly a year at this point.  She was ready to return home, to see Bodahn and Sandal, and to meet up with Varric and Isabela again, who would be traveling to Ostwick about the same time she was.  The plan was to meet them there and travel on into Kirkwall, then produce the adoption papers and give them to the Seneschal’s office, so that the “adoption” would be registered as legal in Kirkwall as well. 

She worked hard to lose the baby weight she had gained, and, with no babe in womb, she began to lose it quickly.  Once little Bethy had realized that sleeping more than two hours at a time was a good thing, Hawke began to do as much around the house as she dared, and that included everything from cooking to cleaning to doing light work out in the garden.  Her birth had been a surprisingly easy one, according to Anders, and he felt there was no reason she couldn’t be up and about the month after.  He did ask that she hold off on the sparring, but Hawke gave him a withering look and, that same evening, took up light sparring practice with Fenris.  It wasn’t with actual blade and staff, of course, but simple exercises to get her used to twisting and turning again, and to build her stamina back up.  She also embraced her mana and held it as long as she could, much like holding in a breath to strengthen lungs, and was much relieved to find that her magic was back to being as strong and predictable as ever.

She was pleased that Fenris was taking to fatherhood as well as he was.  He was, naturally, overprotective of little Bethy, as well as of Hawke herself, always insisting on being there should any visitors come calling.  If any of the townsfolk thought it odd that the male servant was always there to “help” the mistress of the house, none voiced their opinions, and Hawke knew that it didn’t really matter what they thought, so long as they were, for the most part, passing in their roles. 

By two months, the babe was staying awake much longer than she had been, although she seemed to have her nights and days mixed up.  It was amazing, to Hawke, the first time Bethy _focused_ on her, those little eyes uncrossing and _seeing_ her for the first time.  And if it was amazing for Hawke, it was doubly so for Fenris, who felt his chest tighten with something he was very quick to name “love” for the tiny thing he was holding.  And it was Fenris who got the first gummy grin, after those baby blue eyes recognized him.

“Mary,” he said, his voice quick and urgent.  “Mary, she smiled at me.  She _smiled!”_

“It’s probably just gas,” Orana said, as she passed by them, but Hawke shared a smile with Fenris, because they knew better.  At that moment, little Bethy made a cooing sound that was almost a laugh, and Fenris nearly startled to the point of dropping her.

Hawke had taken to resting Bethy on top of a soft blanket on the floor, and on her stomach, with a rag doll just out of reach.  Bethy did not appreciate such things, and cried lustily to let the household know that she wanted the doll, and wanted on her back immediately.  However, Hawke persisted in the activity.

“Why must we do this?” Fenris asked one day, towards the end of Drakonis, and Hawke gave him a shrewd look.

“It strengthens her stomach muscles.  It will help her be able to crawl, and to roll over.  Really, Fenris, did you learn nothing from listening to Anders?”

“A great deal about mage rights,” Fenris replied, grumpily, and Hawke rolled her eyes at him.  “I… did not always pay attention to what the mage said,” he replied, sullenly, this time.

“Well, you should have.”  Anders had been gone for a number of weeks, taking Carver and Merrill with him, to better get things ready back at Hawke’s estate, and because they had things that needed seeing to.  “He told me all these things to expect and to do.  This is good for her; it’s exercise.”

“It’s irritating,” Fenris complained.

“Well, then go out and visit with the mule,” Hawke suggested to him, all full of good humor.  “You’re not the only one having to listen to it, but you’re the only one complaining about it.” She gave little Bethy a smile, and received one in return.  “Besides, if you’re so concerned about it, get on your stomach and talk to her.  I daresay she would appreciate the company.” 

And so Fenris did, accompanying her each time she had to lie on the cursed blanket, talking to her at first, of mundane things: naming objects that she might be able to see, or telling her things about her mother, and the things he knew of her grandmother.  From there he progressed to reading books to her, only some of which Bethy drooled on.  It was good practice for him, Hawke knew, and it was something the both of them seemed to enjoy a great deal.  Soon, the short little ten minute spans of being on her belly turned into half an hour of lying next to her daddy and listening to him read.  A few times she fell asleep that way, and that was acceptable so long as she was watched carefully; Anders had told her to lay Bethy on her back for sleeping, as it was best for her.

Into the third month, Bethy still seemed happy and thriving, and Hawke, too, seemed to be happy enough, albeit with a few moments here and there of bursting into tears for no reason.  The weight was dropping from her more rapidly than she had expected, although the stretch marks remained.  Her stomach was no longer flat, either; not that she particularly cared, either way, but it took a little bit of getting used to her new shape, of feeling comfortable with the way things moved.  Her hips had gotten wider, for example, and it had thrown off her center of balance somewhat.  Her breasts were saggier now, especially since Bethy had learned to latch properly and all of her feedings were breast feedings exclusively supplied by Hawke herself.  They had stretch marks on them as well, and were also larger.  Anders had told her that her breasts may remain larger than they were, or that they could shrink after she weaned Bethy from the breast, but that there was no way of knowing and that both were normal. 

Her feet, also, were larger, which necessitated a trip to the cobbler for certain, and he made for her a pair of walking shoes and a pair of sturdy boots.  Hawke knew that once she got back into Kirkwall, she’d have to have better boots made for her, perhaps ones that could include enchantments on them, but their stay in Grunding had been relatively free of violence and fighting and thus the plain boots were good enough.  On outings such as to the cobbler, she took Bethy with her, held against her body with an intricately wound sling around her body.  It made it easy to get Bethy to the breast when needed, and to have hands free when required.  She had seen other women around the town with such slings, and Merrill had been happy to show her how to make and use them, as the Dalish did, before she left back for Kirkwall. 

A fortnight before the end of Cloudreach, Hawke sat Fenris and Orana down and told them what the plans were: pack up most of the things that needed packing and send them via cart and mule to Merrill in Kirkwall.  They were paying one of the young men from the village to make the trip; he was old enough to not get into too much trouble, yet young enough to want to see the big city for himself, and he had met Merrill a few times while she stayed with them, so they trusted he could get the things that needed getting to the right spot.  In addition to some gold, Hawke promised him whatever he wished from the gardens, assuming he desired to tend it, and his mother was quite impressed with such an offer. 

For Hawke was keeping the Grunding house, she knew.  She liked it; it would do well for short trips: vacations, and the like.  And she was Lady Hawke now, of the Amell line; surely it was not too above her station to own a summer home?  Grunding wasn’t exactly Orlais, or Antiva, but it was a nice enough place, and keeping the house would provide _more_ for Hawke, in the way of security, if not income.  All the better that it was relatively secret from Kirkwall’s prying eyes, and close, but not too close, to the city itself. 

With that being seen to, next came the need to pack what they needed for trip by ship, for ship they must take, somewhere between Grunding and Kirkwall.  To Ostwick, preferably, but if not Ostwick, then to Highever and from there… From there they would find out what they would find out.  The ship crossing with Orana had been relatively fine, for the most part, but now they would have a three month old baby to contend with, and Fenris, who was unsure of ships and unused to the idea of them as well.  Passage for the three full-grown adults would be easy enough to arrange, but _actual_ passage might be more difficult than imagined. 

When Hawke received the last letter from Varric, posted from Llomerynn and informing Hawke that he and Isabela were on their way to Ostwick, she knew they had little time to tarry.  She managed to find a local port village not far from Grunding and, with the mule and cart sent off and goodbyes from their particular acquaintances back in the town, the three of them, babe in tow, set off afoot for the village of Stoat, a good two days’ walk from Grunding.

Little Bethy did not enjoy the camping out that was done between the two places, and she almost seemed to have developed the colic, much to her mother’s intense frustration.  Onboard the small ship, it was even worse; Bethy seemed to be seasick the entire time, when she was not crying, and they disembarked at Highever only to turn right around and deal with the ordeal of traveling by ship with Bethy again on to Ostwick.  Fenris was of little help during this time, seemingly unable to calm the child even by telling her stories or singing to her in Tevene in his low, calming voice; simple lullabies, learned from Hawke, but none soothed the child, and soon Fenris was stalking the deck as a cat would; one only imagined the lashing tail and the affronted whiskers.

Reaching Ostwick was a godsend for them, in a way.  A day on flat, dry land and Bethy was back to being coos and happiness, and they managed to find an inn that was relatively clean and allowed them to take two rooms and meals for a good price.  Orana and Hawke shared the one room, and Fenris got the other to himself, after much grumbling.  He wanted to bunk in with Hawke, but Hawke kept looking for ways to put distance between the two of them, especially if it came to _nighttime activities_.  She felt too shy to allow Fenris to see her new, nude body, and uncomfortable at the idea of resuming any sort of sexual relations with him.  He would be disappointed with her.  She wasn’t ready.  She wasn’t sure.  She—

She just did not want to, and thus Orana shared the room with her, instead.  With her, and Bethy.

After nearly a year apart, she almost did not recognize Varric and Isabella, when they ventured their way into the tavern.  Isabela looked more tan and even more sultry, and Varric looked healthy, his chest hair out proudly and grinning broadly.  It was so good to see them, Hawke thought, and she was all smiles as she introduced little Bethy.  Isabela said that she’d fetch a good price on the black market, which earned her an evil glare from Fenris and an indulgent laugh from Hawke, who knew Isabela to be uncomfortable around _feelings_ and things. 

Varric said to Fenris, “You did a good job, elf,” which earned _him_ an affronted squawk from Hawke.

“I did all the bloody work,” she cried, poking Varric in the middle of his mass of chest hair.

“And Broody did all the ‘putting up’ with your work.”  At a look from Hawke, Varric held up his hands.  “You weren’t the only one writing to me, although I daresay yours were more descriptive of things.”  The glare was transferred over to Fenris, who opted not to look in Hawke’s direction.  Just coincidentally.

“Another two days here,” Varric continued, “and then we’ll be on our way back to Kirkwall.  I’ve got all the papers necessary.  We’ll get there and as soon as you settle back into your estate, Hawke, we’ll approach Bran and get the stamps of approval.  With Aveline there as witness, and Sebastian as well, that’ll take care of city officials and the Chantry both, I suspect.”

“And there shouldn’t be any problems?  It should all appear legal?”

“As far as they’re concerned, Chuckles, it’s all perfectly legal.  They won’t be able to tell these are anything but genuine documents.  I’m good, Isabela’s good, and my contacts are good.  Bribes have been paid and loose ends have been tightened.”  Hawke breathed out, deeply, and was surprised to find that she had been holding the breath.  It was as if a great weight was gone from her shoulders.  Fenris seemed to echo the sentiment, if his slight exhale and the even slighter smile he sent her way was any indication.

“I’m guessing you’re going to want Auntie ‘Bela to babysit,” Isabela said, rather dryly.  “I’m sure you two crazy kids are wanting to spend some time by yourselves, after your harrowing stay in the quiet countryside.”

“Not really,” Hawke said.

“Yes, that would be quite nice, actually,” Fenris replied, at the same time.  She winced, visibly, and felt ice form in her stomach; perhaps she could get Fenris alone and play it off that she didn’t want Isabela watching the baby?  The pirate wasn’t exactly known for her child-friendly skills.  One look towards Fenris, however, told her that she was going to have to do more than explain it with a “Don’t trust ‘Bela with the baby!” bit.  He looked _hurt_.  _Maker’s breath_ , she thought to herself, and then chided herself for her lack of thinking.  Of _course_ Fenris would look hurt.  He had only just begun trusting himself to a relationship with her, something that took months and extenuating circumstances to achieve.  Her saying that she wasn’t looking forward to spending time alone with him had to be a serious blow to his already fragile ego.

“I just thought… your trip was so long,” Hawke dissembled.  “We’ve been here a few days already.  The inn is quite nice.  Perhaps...”

“This isn’t about you trusting me with a baby, is it, Hawke?”  Damn shrewd woman.

“Of course not.  I just thought you two might like a day to settle in.  Sailing’s rough.”  The pirate looked back at her blandly.  “Antiva and Rivain were rough?”  Varric added a bland look.  Fenris had his head ducked down, bangs covering his eyes, hands curled into fists.  “Well, I just thought, anyway.  If you’re up for it, I’m sure Fenris would enjoy a chance to… not be in the tavern…?”

“I am fine where I am,” Fenris said, abruptly.  Hawke cursed internally; why could she have not kept her mouth shut?

“Go to the market,” Varric urged.  “You two kids should have a lot of fun looking around there for things to buy.”

“But what if Bethy wakes up—“

“She’ll be _fine_ ,” Isabela assured her.  “If she wakes up and sees Auntie ‘Bela here, she’ll fuss a bit but she’ll be fine.  And you won’t be gone long, knowing you two.  But go, shoo.  Out of my room,” she ordered.  Hawke darted another glance over at Fenris, who stood hunched and stiff.

“Well, Fenris?  Shall we?”  He shrugged slightly and she suppressed a sigh before leading him out of the room and out of the inn, and down towards where she thought she was told the marketplace was.  Fenris followed behind her two paces.  Behind and to her right; exactly where he always followed behind her, when they were out in Kirkwall.  How easy it was to fall back into that same pattern.  Behind, and to the right, because Hawke always took point.  She shook her head and slowed her pace so that he wound up catching up to her.

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want to come out,” she ventured.  “I’m not completely sure I trust ‘Bela and Varric with an infant.”

“I am sure they will do adequately,” Fenris said, his voice flat.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, either, Fenris,” she told him.

“I am not upset.”  But his posture loosened up slightly, and he glanced at her through the silvery-white locks that fell into his face.  “I am… confused… perhaps.  And getting used to new arrangements.”

“It all takes a lot of getting used to,” she agreed.  “Just when I think I’m getting used to her sleeping arrangements, or her feeding schedule, she changes it.”

“It is not only that,” Fenris replied, his voice soft. 

“Perhaps you could tell me more of what you mean, then?”

Fenris shrugged uncomfortably and stopped, glancing around at the people milling about.  “It is… I do not know what our arrangement is.  It is… not like I had anticipated it being.”

“I’m not quite sure _I_ understand now,” she told him.

“You… The mage said that you could resume… _activities_ … after so many weeks, yet…”  He turned a brilliant shade of red, his voice little more than a muttered whisper.  “Never mind.  It is foolish.  I will not bother you with such things.”  He marched ahead of her briskly.

“Wait,” she said, reaching out her hand to grasp his elbow.  Fenris flinched but did not pull away from her.  “I… I _may_ have been… avoiding… things,” she managed to say, without choking on her words.  “Because I feel rather uncomfortable with myself.  It’s not you.”

“Why would you feel uncomfortable?”

“Maker’s mercy, this is hardly the place to be discussing this,” she hedged.  “Perhaps we should enjoy our free time alone for a while, since I’m sure we’ll be headed back within an hour or so, and then we can discuss it tonight.  Alone.”

“Tonight.  Yes,” he agreed. 

* * *

 

Hawke had held out hopes that, upon return to the inn, they would be accosted by a Varric and Isabela who were desperate for Hawke to take her baby back, but the most that happened was Isabela stuck her head out the door as Hawke was being pushed (quite literally) towards Fenris’s room, cackled, told them to have fun, and withdrew from the hallway.

Fenris pushed her inside and stood with the door to his back, locking the door behind him and gazing at her with an almost predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Fenris, listen…”

“Certainly,” he told her, stepping closer once the lock had turned properly in the door.  Hawke took a step back.

“I’ve just… there have been changes, you must understand, and when young ladies go through such things there are… changes… and sometimes these changes are… changing…”  He was within arm’s length of her.

“Changes,” he echoed, his eyes roaming over her face and figure in the dull light that streamed through the small window.

“Exactly,” Hawke said, nodding for all she was worth and realizing she was being backed against the wall.  “And, with feeling so tired, you know,” she babbled.  He had backed her truly against a wall, scant inches from touching her.  His face was flushed slightly red and his pupils were dilated huge in his eyes.  Hawke felt her heart beating just a little bit faster.  Surely, she had explained herself well enough? 

“Yes,” he said, sliding one hand around her waist to her back, the other one going behind her head.  Then his lips were pressing against hers hungrily, like a man dying of thirst getting water for the first time.  She umphed and slumped against him slightly, the fight having gone out of her, and rested her hands on his chest.  After a moment, he pulled away, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Marian?  Is something wrong?”

“I just told you what’s wrong,” she explained, patiently and with no small amount of exhaustion.

“You are tired.  You are stressed.  I can help with such matters.”

She shook her head and tried to pull back and away from him, but the wall at her back and his grip on her prevented both movements.  Fenris’s mouth moved from hers, down her jawline and to her throat, and Hawke’s eyes fluttered shut against her will.  It felt… good.  She sighed and relaxed against him instead of struggling, and her arms went around his waist.  He made an appreciative hum as he kissed up to her earlobe, pressing her more firmly up against the wall with his hips.

“Fenris,” she murmured, feeling suddenly nearly drunk and dizzy.  “I… are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have never been more sure,” he told her, and nipped her earlobe, hard. 

“I… my breasts…” she said, breathlessly, holding on to him as his hands explored up her clothed body.

“I have seen them,” he assured her, biting the crook of her neck softly.  “I hope I shall see them again soon.” His tongue swirled against the bare flesh of her throat.  “Very soon,” he murmured, bringing a hand up to one breast to cup it through her dress.  Hawke moaned at the sudden sensation, feeling her knees go weak and wetness dampen her smalls from just that small touch.

“I look different,” she protested, trying to warn him.  He would see her naked and he would… he would…

“I have seen you unclothed before,” he reminded her.  Suddenly he pulled back and looked her in the eyes, brows drawing down questioningly.  “Marian, do you not wish to do this?”

“You’ll _see_ me.  I don’t look the same.  I don’t _feel_ the same…”

“Are you not ready?  We will stop, if you wish, but I want you to know it is not what _I_ wish.  I have not felt your touch in such a manner since before Bethy was born and I crave it.”  His lips were back against her, right behind her ear.  “I _crave_ you.  I need to feel you.  You are there and I cannot touch you the way I wish.  I _need_ you, Marian,” he said, his voice nearly begging.

“If you’re sure,” she said, unsteadily and unsure herself.

“Never more,” he promised, bringing his lips back to her mouth, his tongue darting out teasingly.  She parted her lips and touched her tongue against his, closing her eyes.  Hawke’s fingers dug into his back slightly and Fenris ground his hips against her once more; she could feel his arousal through his pants, and feel his heat all over her, pressed against her as he was.

Clever fingers quickly undid the laces on the bodice of her dress and her breasts spilled out against him.  Fenris quickly ducked his head down to take one perky nipple into his mouth and he moaned appreciatively, his tongue swirling and lapping around it.  He bit down, softly, and used his hand to push the breast up so he could get a better angle to suckle on it.  Hawke tilted her head back and moaned, then sighed with pleasure.  It felt… it felt so wonderful.  The little tingles went straight down to her core, heating her up.  She brought one hand up to the back of his head and threaded her fingers through his hair, in part to keep him there.  He could do that forever.  It felt… She rubbed her thighs together to give herself friction against her sex.  She wanted him there, as well, needed him to _touch_ her. 

“Fenris,” she gasped, and felt him bite down on her breast particularly hard, causing her to gasp again.  Her nails were scrabbling for purchase along his back as his knee pushed her legs apart.  “Fenris,” she managed again, little more than a hoarse plea.

“Did I hurt you?” he said, pressing kisses along where he had left teeth marks on her breast.

“Can we move to the bed?”  He chuckled softly at that and nuzzled at her chest, between her breasts, with his soft, warm lips.

“The bed,” he agreed, steering her there.  He sat down on the edge of it, hard, and pulled her down so that she was straddling his lap.  Hawke could feel his erection pushing up against her and she tugged at the hem of her dress, lifting it until it was rucked up above her waist, while Fenris nuzzled and suckled on her bare breasts, his hands gripping her ass tightly to hold her firmly in place.  Hawke’s hands dipped down to the top of his pants and she fumbled at the buckle on his belt while Fenris’s mouth moved from one breast to the next, as if trying to decide which one he preferred.  His eyes were half-closed and every now and again his fingers would tighten against her while his hips shifted up just slightly, as if to feel a bit of pressure against him.

The damnable buckle finally undone, Hawke moved to the laces, tugging on them impatiently.  She had been so reluctant, so concerned about this at first, but now, with him on her breasts, his fingers caressing and kneading her flesh, his mouth so hot against her skin and his want so _evident_ , she found that she was soaked through her smalls and eager for him.  The laces, tangled and knotted, refused to come undone for her and so she drew the small belt knife from off his loosened belt and sliced through them, earning her a husky chuckle from Fenris and an extra nip on a sensitive nipple.  The knife was carefully re-sheathed, to avoid any unfortunate incidents, and then her clever fingers drew his length from his underclothes and pants both, stroking over him.  One hand gently caressed his sac while the other twisted over his length, a delicate forefinger swirling the beads of precum down and around him for lubrication, and Fenris paused in his attentions on her as if the sensation was too much.

Hawke curled her palm around the head of his cock and squeezed lightly, then twisted her hand down and around his shaft and Fenris hissed in pleasure, suddenly biting down on her shoulder roughly enough to leave marks, thrusting his hips forward and up against her hand.  Hawke smirked to herself and nuzzled her lips against the top of his head as she repeated the gesture, and this time Fenris moaned and dragged his fingers up over her hips and then back down her thighs.

“I want you,” he told her.  “I want to be inside of you.”  He slid one hand down towards her slit and thumbed against that sensitive little bundle of nerves, and it was Hawke’s turn to moan and grind herself against his hand.  “You are so wet already, Marian,” he said, and the tone alone was enough to make her even wetter.  He dipped two fingers up inside of her, crooking them just slightly, and withdrew them slowly only to thrust back inside quickly.  Hawke whimpered and held tightly to his cock, resting her head on his shoulder.  “Are you ready, Marian?” he asked, and she nodded, the loose strands of her hair brushing against his face.  She lifted herself up more onto her knees and, as he held the damp scrap of fabric that were her smalls aside, she guided him towards her entrance and slid down onto him slowly.

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” he cursed, low and softly, as his hands moved to her hips to guide her down onto him roughly.  Hawke made a strangled sort of noise, half of pleasure and half of surprise, and adjusted her position so that she was more on his lap.  “Marian,” he murmured, and his lips found her own again as she raised herself up slightly.  He drug her back down before she was completely off of him, her tight wetness sliding down over his cock roughly.  Hawke ground herself down against him, moving one hand between them so she could rub circles around her clit, the other hand holding onto his shoulder, anchoring herself against him. 

Hawke’s breath caught, and her heart was pounding in her chest.  It felt… different, from before, but no worse, and if Fenris’s reactions were any indication, he certainly didn’t have any complaints.  He guided her up and down on him, arching himself against her, tilting his head back and alternating between breasts and nipping along her neck and shoulders.  His mouth seemed to be everywhere, his hands firmly against her back and her rear, sliding up and down her thighs, pulling her up off him and pulling her back down against him.  She found her breathing was getting harder to control and the nails of the hand holding herself to him started digging into his flesh sharply.

“Are you ready to come?” he asked her, his breath hot against her ear, and then he bit her earlobe.  She nodded, unable to form the words.  “Say it, Marian,” he ordered, and she gasped inhales twice, sharply.  “Say you’re ready to come,” he urged, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her throat.  Her fingers worked herself quickly and she pushed against her clit, adding that much more pressure.  If she could only breath, if she… “Say it,” he said again.

“I’m going to come,” she managed to breath out, and felt the first little jolt start in her center.  He rewarded this admission with a kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips to dance against her own.

“Are you coming?” he asked again, thrusting up and into her.  “Tell me you are, Marian.  Come for me.” 

“I.. I’m coming,” she told him, and she was.  Her muscles convulsed on his shaft and tremors ran through her body.  She gasped in several times, trying for air, panting, and then suddenly cried out, only to have the cry stifled by Fenris’s mouth on hers.  She shivered and her hand stilled for a moment, and then she found Fenris’s hand on hers, forcing her to rub against her little nub, his other hand forcing her down against him.  She moaned and he swallowed the moans with kisses until she felt dizzy and had to push his hand away because it was too much and she was suddenly too sensitive.  He brought the hand to his lips and sucked on her fingers, licking her own juices from the digits.  Gently, more gently than one would assume with Fenris, he was sliding her off of him and having her rest amidst the skirts of her dress, on his lap.

“I am not through with you yet,” he promised, and guided her to lie down on the bed while he took up position between her legs, pushing those cursed skirts back up around her waist.  “I want to taste you.”  He started with kisses on her feet and worked his way slowly, agonizingly slowly, up her legs, to her center.  Hawke wasn’t sure that she was ready to have another orgasm, or that she could even take much more; her first orgasm in months, after getting rather used to them, and after childbirth, no less.  She wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to have another one just yet.  But Fenris had other plans, and his mouth was on her before she had much time to protest, his talented tongue pushing up inside of her, his nose rubbing at her nub and his hands spreading her apart for him.  She gasped and moaned and clutched at the blanket she was lying upon, bringing her legs up so that her knees were over his shoulders and her heels digging into his back. 

He did not seem to mind this, merely shifting slightly so it was more comfortable, and he dragged his tongue up her slit to her clit, where he circled and teased it.  That shock went through her again, and when he entered her with two of his fingers she felt the slightest of convulsings and knew that he could feel her tighten around him.  He took his mouth away from her long enough to look up at her.  “Did you come again, Marian?”

“I—yes,” she confessed, and he smirked and kissed the inside of her thigh before putting his mouth back to her.  Hawke arched her back and pushed her hips against his face, begging him with her body for more, for faster.  He obliged her on _more_ , taking her between his lips and suckling her clit, and adding a third finger inside her, slowly twisting them, pulling out and thrusting back inside more roughly.  She felt her orgasm build swiftly, and soon she was pulling at his hair and begging him, calling his name in broken sobs.  He only withdrew his mouth and fingers when he was sure the last of the tremors had subsided, and kissed his way back up her body, lingering on her breasts as before. 

When Fenris was back up to her mouth, caressing her lips with his own, he took himself in hand and guided his cock back into her waiting wetness, thrusting in sharply and causing her to groan slightly.  He took one leg and hooked his arm beneath her knee, spreading them further apart, and worked himself in and out of her in a steady rhythm, the fingers of his free hand interlaced with the fingers of her hand.  His eyes were half closed and beads of sweat were forming on his face; his tunic was damp with perspiration.  Suddenly he dropped her leg and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, keeping himself off her as best he could with one hand placed above her shoulder, pressing into the bed.  His rhythm was less steady, and Fenris seemed to be concentrating, as if he were holding back. 

“Fenris, you need to come now,” she told him, her voice gentle and beguiling.  “But you can’t come inside me.”

“I know,” was all he said, but he continued the irregular thrusting deep into her for a few minutes more.  Hawke ran a hand over his ears, tweaking the tip of one slightly, and Fenris stilled in his movements.  His breathing got suddenly very heavy and uneven, and Hawke tweaked the ear again.  He shuddered this time and tilted his head so that he was pressing a kiss inside of her wrist.

“Fenris, I want you to come,” she told him.

“Do that again,” he said.  “Keep doing it.”  So she caressed and pinched his ear lightly, and he entered her again and again, less regularly and less rhythmically each time, until he suddenly withdrew from her and pumped himself with his hand, calling her name and spurting his seed all over the tight, strawberry-blonde curls on her mound, pressing himself against her as he came.  Then his mouth was seeking hers, greedily, and his hips were grinding down. 

“Fenris, I love you,” she said to him, because it seemed like it was the thing that needed to be said.  He hummed appreciatively and nestled his face between her breasts, toying with one of the nipples idly while catching his breath.

“I had wondered,” he said, and she arched a brow curiously.

“Wondered if I loved you?”

“I had wondered what your milk tasted like.  And now I know.”  He took the nipple into his mouth and suckled on it, quite happily, for a moment.  “We must not let so long pass between making love again, Marian,” he told her, quite sternly.  “I barely had it in me to last long enough.”  She laughed at that and hugged herself up against him.

“You are a silly man sometimes,” she told him.

“Do not let Varric know, or else he’ll put it in a book, or, Maker forbid, give me a name worse than ‘Broody’,” Fenris said. 

“And we couldn’t have that,” she teased.

“It would be quite the travesty.”  He went back to kissing along her breasts for a moment.  The knocking at the door was both expected and sigh-inducing in both of them. 

Without waiting for an answer, Isabela peeked her head inside and grinned at the sight.  “If you two are done canoodling, the baby woke up and wants to eat.”  She grinned more broadly at Fenris, who was lying half-draped on Hawke’s breasts.  “That is, if daddy’s done.”

“Maker, ‘Bela,” Hawke began, and the pirate chuckled and closed the door behind her.

“I suppose this means we’re not going to have a chance for a second go ‘round,” Fenris said, mournfully, giving each breast a last kiss.

“Well, you could always switch rooms with Orana and we can see how things go later,” she told him, looking around rather hopelessly for a rag or a towel to clean herself off with.

Fenris seemed to perk up at that.  “You would let me share your room with you?”

“Only if you promise to share nappy duties,” she said, sternly.

“I think that is something I can live with.  Especially if it means I get to taste you again,” he smirked.

“Maker, you’re horrible,” she teased, which only earned her another smirk and a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Just don’t tell Varric.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much longer chapter than usual, but I didn't want to break it up into two smaller chapters, since I felt they flowed so well together.


	13. A New Kind of Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Fenris, Bethy, Varric, and Isabela return to Kirkwall after being away for over a year, and Hawke and Fenris learn to settle in and settle down. Sebastian learns a secret he wasn't meant to know, and everyone pressures Hawke and Fenris about marriage.

It was a relief, waking through the city gates, with little Bethy in her sling, tightly held against her mother’s breast, Kirkwall in all its stinking glory laid out before them.  Hawke was _happy_ to be home.  She was happy that this adventure was over and a new chapter was beginning.  The entire party seemed visibly relieved to be returned, except for, perhaps, Orana.  Orana had barely stepped foot outside of Hawke’s estate before they left the previous year, and being around the bustle of the large city was obviously stressful to her.

The first stop was, of course, to see Xenon, in his Black Emporium.  Her subterfuge would not have been as good if it weren’t for the Mirror of Transfiguration that he had allowed her to use, and she was determined to get her natural look back as quickly as possible.  It was personal as well as practical, and she passed a few words with him while Fenris held Bethy close to his chest, eyeing everything with the distrust he held in general when it came to magic and magical things.  She had been apologetic for even dragging him there, but Fenris insisted on accompanying her, rather than letting her go alone, probably because he trusted Xenon no more than he trusted Anders, and with as good a reason for that distrust; no one trusted Xenon farther than they needed to.  Besides, passing through Darktown was dangerous, especially with an infant being carried along, and Hawke was not quite yet back in fighting form, no matter what she wanted to believe. 

Before too long, her hair was back to its jet black, and her eyes were back to the blue that was somewhere between Carver’s own and her mother’s.  Hawke’s skin was returned to its paleness, although she left the small scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, since Fenris had commented several times on how flattering it looked on her.  The woman staring back at her in the mirror was a stranger, after so many months of looking at someone who could pass as Anders’s sister, and Bethy stuffed a tiny fist into her mouth and whimpered when Hawke tried to take her back from Fenris, only relenting with the threatening tears when Hawke spoke to her in the gentle, soothing voice that became instinctual for most new mothers.

As soon as she stepped foot inside her home, with Fenris trailing her, Varric and Isabela having said goodbye back in Lowtown, with promises to attend dinner later that evening, she let out a sort of breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.  Fenris shuffled uncomfortably, but he was always uncomfortable around Hightown, except in his own dilapidated mansion.

Anders was there, surprisingly, having taken Hawke up on her offer of staying at the estate when needed, and Bodahn and Sandal were both in.  Orana made her excuses quickly and dashed to her little room to unpack her things, and the two dwarves cooed over the baby.

Anders gave her a shrewd look, and Fenris one as well, not failing to take notice of the several small bruises along her neck: Fenris enjoyed “marking his territory” in such a fashion.  Perhaps the mage had hoped the two of them would have a falling out between the time he left and the time they arrived, but such was not the case, and it was evident by the way Fenris hovered at Hawke’s side, the way he handled little Bethy.

“Bodahn,” she told her dwarven manservant, “I must see Aveline and Sebastian immediately.  I also need to get an audience with Seneschal Bran, and I will need baby things procured today.  She needs a cradle to sleep in, amongst other things.  I do not suppose I can find an adequate wet-nurse here in Kirkwall, so I will need to procure a plentiful supply of goats’ milk, as well as bubby-pots so that she may nurse.”

“I’m sure we can find a wet-nurse, if needed, Messere,” Bodahn said, and rubbed his bearded chin.  “I’m not so much sure about bubby-pots and goats milk, but I’ll see what I can do.  It _is_ good to see you about again, Messere!”

“Messere Fenris has leave to come and go as he will, Bodahn.  See that you let him have the run of the place.  You must listen to him as you would me.”  She gave Fenris a shrewd look.  “Should he ever decide he actually wants to _move in_ , as has been offered, then we wouldn’t have to deal with comings and goings.”

“Hawke,” he said, warning.

She rolled her eyes theatrically at him.  “Fine, fine.  But he must have a key made ready for him, by tomorrow at the latest.  Mother’s room will be made up as the nursery, because it is closest to my room.  How have things fared, Bodahn?  You and Sandal all right?”

“We are fine, Messere, just fine.  Everything has gone smoothly.  I daresay you’ve got a lot of correspondence that needs seeing to, plenty of requests for aid and such, but a lot of it is old and you should be able to be rid of it as you please.”

“Excellent,” Hawke said, shifting little Bethy slightly.  “I’ll let you get to it, then.  The first thing I want to do is change Bethy and then the both of us take a much needed nap.  Perhaps even a bath!” she added, with a smile.

“If you do not need me now, Hawke, I will go to the mansion and make sure things are okay.”

“You mean, you’ll go and check to see if there are new corpses, then you’ll jot back over here in hopes of catching me in the tub?”  She grinned cheekily at him, causing red to flare on his cheeks and up to his ears.  Bodahn coughed slightly, embarrassed.  “Go on, Fenris.  I expect I’ll see you at dinner, then?”  He nodded, eyes on the floor and red up his ears, and she patted him on the shoulder to send him on his way.  “Well then.  I’ll just head upstairs, Bodahn, and let you get to work.”

She did run a bath for the two of them, upstairs, using it as an excuse to feed Bethy.  She wasn’t sure how often she’d be able to feed the babe, nor if the irregular feedings would mean her milk would dry up before she was ready, but she would get in as many as she could.  They soaked in the warm tub, Bethy first on her left breast, then on her right, enjoying their time together.  The baby was growing so quickly, already pushing herself so that she could hold her body up with just her hands, already trying to roll over, babbling and laughing and cooing.  Those eyes were changing color as well, although she knew they would end up being either blue or green.  Her hair had thinned ever so slightly from how it was when she was born, but it was longer, as well, and her face had a distinctly elven cast to it, although her ears were round, if slightly longer than an average human’s.  Truthfully, looking at her, she looked like their natural daughter, and she was uncomfortably aware that they might not be able to fully pass her as being adopted.  Hopefully Bran would not bother to question Bethy’s origin, nor question the adoption papers, but…  There was always that little bit of fear inside her.

After the bath, they bundled up, Bethy in a fresh nappy and a long gown and Hawke in a clean gown of her own and fresh smalls, and lay together on Hawke’s bed.  Hero jumped up onto the foot of the bed and was most curious about the little creature Hawke had brought home, sniffing and snuffling all over her until Bethy was breathless with giggles.

“This is my daughter,” she told Hero.  “So no teaching her how to fight just yet.  She’s only a baby.”  Hero whumphed at her and wagged his nubby tail, looking nearly affronted at the accusation.  “Oh ho, buster, I know you.  You’ll have her fighting in no time, if I’m not careful.”  He shook his head, throwing slobber out everywhere, and bared his teeth in a doggy grin.  Hawke scratched behind his ears and smiled at him, fondly.  “I missed you, too, buddy.  I’ll bring you next time, though?” 

By that time, the baby had fallen asleep, and so Hawke put one pillow on the other side of the child and rested on another, and that was how Fenris found them a handful of hours later.  Hawke woke abruptly when he came in, more because of his presence than because of anything else, and Fenris gave her and Bethy indulgent smiles before sitting on the edge of the bed.  He ran a hand slowly up and down Hawke’s bare leg, giving her an update on the state of his mansion (dilapidated and yet still standing; his few things still there) and informing her that Bodahn told him Aveline would be over for dinner, and Sebastian as well, if she were up for such a thing.  Hero whined slightly, demanding a share of the affection, and Fenris obliged him as well; the two had always gotten along, unlike Anders and Hero. 

She rose and dressed for the rest of the day, including brushing out and braiding her hair, and left Fenris to watch over Bethy.  He settled on the bed, propped up with pillows and with a book, and Hero followed her downstairs, dogging her steps like a dog should.  Hawke went through some of the more recent mail, writing off quick notes to be delivered in the morning and informing some of the city’s leaders that she has returned to town and will be available for services again within the next few days.  The letter to Meredith was crisp and quick, and the letter to Orsino was full of flourishes and written with smiles.  The Grand Cleric’s letter was formal and polite.  The short note to Carver was bubbly and happy.

She ran into Orana in the kitchen; the maid was getting ready, preparing dinner.  They had arrived at midday, and Orana had plenty of time to get a roast prepared.  Already the smells were delicious: roasting beef, with root vegetables, and Orana promised fresh bread from the bakery, along with a cake from the sweet shop, to celebrate their return home.  When Hawke asked if there was any way she could help, Orana shushed her and hustled her out of the kitchen, explaining that she was back at work now and that Hawke could keep herself out unless requested.  Hawke smiled indulgently and let the young woman do was she wished; it truly was _her_ domain, after all.

Aveline and Donnic arrived an hour before sunset, just about the time that Bethy was waking up from her nap and wanting to be fed.  Hawke shut herself in with Aveline, for Donnic was too shy about the idea of the Champion showing her breasts (and Maker, Hawke had to get used to being the Champion of Kirkwall; she had only had a few months to get used to it, after all, and those were mostly overshadowed by the grief of losing her mother and her lover and the pain of the duel with the Arishok) even in something so natural as feeding an infant, and the two women caught up.  Aveline seemed rightly taken with the small girl, cooing over how adorable she looked, and how naturally Hawke had taken to motherhood.  She still experienced small periods of fluctuating hormones, but it was nowhere nigh as bad as it could have been, according to Anders.  Bethy nursed, gazing up at her mother in near adoration, alternating with looks towards Aveline that were outright curious.  When Fenris came in to announce Sebastian’s arrival, Bethy started wiggling around in her mother’s arms and lost all interest in nursing, instead obviously wanting to go see her father.  Hawke did not miss Aveline’s look of incredulity as Fenris smiled and took the child, rocking her in his arms and cooing.  It was something she wouldn’t have believed, herself, if she hadn’t been living with it these past three months and more; one did not tend to think of Fenris and fatherhood in the same breath.  Anyone wielding a greatsword taller than themselves did not obviously make themselves a target for such things.

Fenris insisted on carrying Bethy down, and Hawke did not argue with him, simply lacing her gown back up and adjusting herself properly to meet with others.  Aveline went on ahead, to let Sebastian know they would be down in a moment, and by the time they were ready to go downstairs, Isabela had dragged herself in, in a state somewhat resembling inebriation, with Varric and Merrill alongside her.  Hawke smiled and rolled her eyes, thinking they were going to have quite the party and she would wind up with quite the fussy baby, when Anders popped up from the cellar to greet them as well.  Bodahn caught her elbow and let her know there was fresh goat’s milk and a half-dozen bubby-pots to be used for nursing, along with some clean cloths to act as the teat, and Hawke thanked him for his foresight and his swiftness.  Not that Bethy would need feeding so soon, but it was easier to keep up the illusion that way.

More cooing over her adorableness from Sebastian, and the shrewd look in his eyes as he looked at first Bethy, then Fenris, then herself, let her know that he wasn’t fooled much in the least.  Fenris caught the look as well, and Hawke requested that he let her take care of speaking to the man; Fenris may be Sebastian’s friend, but when it came to the safety of Hawke and their child, he was not one to take any chances.

Indeed, no time like the present; she insured that Bethy was safe and happy in her father’s arms, and gently took Sebastian by the elbow and requested he join her out in the garden for fresh air.  Sebastian, ever the gentleman, obliged immediately, and the two of them walked out there together, Fenris throwing the Chantry brother a distrusting look.

“I know you know, Sebastian.”

“Aye.  Why did you not tell me, Hawke?  I wouldnae told, if you had wished it kept secret.”

“How could I have known that?  You support the Chantry, and the templars.  The Chantry takes children away from their mothers, if their mothers are mages.”

“I wish you would have had faith in me, to see that faith rewarded.  But I know now, and you know I will not pass along your secret unless you wish it.  Although I am surprised to see Fenris acting as he is.   One look at the two of them and it’s obvious that the babe is his, and the way he acts around her, a prouder father there never was.”

“I’m putting my faith in you now, Sebastian,” she told him, resting her hand on his arm.  “I’m putting a lot of faith into you.  The plan is to pass her off as my adopted daughter and heir, and your voice for the Chantry witness would go far to help that.”

“I dinnae think you’d need such, Hawke, but my voice is yours.”  He smiled brightly and his eyes sparkled.  “How does Carver feel?  I assume he knows he’s an uncle, or will soon be.”

She laughed then and shook her head.  “Carver spent a while with us out in Grunding, where we were staying during the birth.  You’ll have to come out there with us sometime; the Chantry there is quite quaint, very lovely.  Anyhow, he was pleased enough to find he’d be an uncle, although not so pleased with Fenris.  The two of them quarreled a lot.  Pretty much every time they were around each other,” she said, with a sigh at the remembrance.

“Fenris isn’t one to take things lightly, and Carver isn’t, either.  I can see where the two would clash in their interactions.”

“You don’t remember how they were before the Deep Roads expedition.  You weren’t there with us.  I couldn’t take both of them together.  Even then, Fenris seemed to fancy me, and I know I fancied him, and Carver was feeling resentful that everyone looked to me to be the one leading our little merry band of misfits.  He kept calling Fenris my “pet elf,” which was insulting on purpose and did nothing to help Fenris’s trust in me, what with me being a mage and all.”  She leaned back against a tree, her hands behind her and resting on her heels.  “So I would usually wind up bringing the two rogues with us, and either Fenris or Carver, and myself.  Or Anders, in place of one of the rogues.  It left us in some tight spots sometimes, but it cut down on the fighting, and it gave us all some good experience in different sorts of situations.  I daresay my magic is stronger, and myself, because I was put into unfamiliar scenarios and had to think more quickly.”

“I daresay.  You are a formidable woman.  Are you and Fenris planning to wed, then?”  At the paling of her face, Sebastian shook his head.  “An unmarried woman with an adopted heir.  You were already quite the catch here in Kirkwall, being the scion of the Amell line.  Now you will have men flocking to wed you, and you will have Fenris jealous every time you turn around and bump into one.”

“I… I do not think even I could get away with marrying him,” she told him, honestly.  “But it’s not like he’s asked, or hinted.  Although he did say that the red ribbon he is wearing is a promise for a promise.  It was rather sweet, a sort of Feastday gift,” she said, smiling at the memory. 

“Perhaps you should ask him,” Sebastian suggested.

“I think he’d probably rather not,” she replied, weakly.

“Perhaps I should bring it up with him, then.  You two deserve what happiness you can find, Hawke, and I think you would be happiest if the two of you were able to wed and live openly as a family.”

“Even though he is an elf?  I can’t think Kirkwall would look too fondly at an apostate marrying an elf and prancing around Hightown as if we were people.”

“Is that how Kirkwall would feel, or how _you_ would feel?”  Ah, Sebastian; always the Brother, always preaching.

“I’d marry him in a minute, if he asked,” she answered, honestly.  “But I also realize the practicalities of things.”  She shook her head again and shrugged.  “At least you have given me something to think over.  And perhaps, if the suggest came from someone other than me, Fenris would start thinking of it on his own.  Especially if he were told I’d be quite amiable to the idea of such a thing.”

“Hawke, are you asking me to put in a good word for you?”  Sebastian’s grin was broad and full of good humor, and soon Hawke’s smile matched it.

“Perhaps just a tiny good word.  If he’s interested, and has nothing better to do.”

He laughed then, and offered her his arm.  “Come then.  Let us not keep your other guests waiting.  I believe I have a bit of gossiping to get to.”

It was nearly – _nearly_ —like old times, sitting around her table and sharing wine (which she could partake of, again, in small amounts) and delicious foods cooked by Orana with her crew.  With the secret out to everyone around the table, there was no need to hide what they were up to, or where they actually were, and it was fun, to see the look on Sebastian’s and Aveline’s and Donnic’s faces, talking about one thing or another from the little house in Grunding.  Bethy got passed around as much as the wine did, much to her chagrin, in some cases, and much to her amusement, in others.  She was quite taken with Uncle Varric, for example, and never failed to stare at him, wide-eyed, grabbing for chest hair; that always brought a laugh, no matter how many times it happened, and Varric’s exclamations of how every woman loved the chest hair.  She could not have remembered Anders, but he had a gentle touch with her, and since she would be seeing him on a regular basis, at least for check-ups and the like, Hawke felt it especially good that they establish a rapport early.  She was fascinated with Aveline’s hair, and fascinated with _Donnic’s_ facial hair (much as she had been with Bodahn’s) and by the time she got around to Sebastian, Bethy had had enough and wanted her mother again.

Hawke took her gladly and retired to the library for feeding, as much so the babe would have little distraction as for any sake of modesty.  Fenris had been especially quiet during the dinner, always more content to observe than to participate, and took the opportunity to retire with Hawke, for he enjoyed immensely watching her feed their daughter.  It was usually quiet when she did, and there was a simple feeling of togetherness and belonging that Hawke knew Fenris reveled in.  He could not remember family of his own, and to suddenly be presented with a partner (of sorts) and a child that had his blood flowing through her veins, to have friends stand around and congratulate him, was verging on too much for him to bear at the moment.  The quiet time of feeding and cooing and rocking was a welcome one, and allowed him to get his head on straight.

They visited with the guests for another hour, and then Hawke begged off the company, claiming the need for sleep for the baby and herself.

“Bethy still wakes at least twice a night,” she told them, “and then I must wake with her to see her fed properly.  It’s taken quite some getting used to, I assure you,” she said, with a grin, for Hawke was not known for her easy rising.  “Please, stay and enjoy yourselves.  You too, Fenris!  And I will see you all tomorrow morning.” 

Bodahn had procured a cradle, as she requested, and it was up by her bed, on her side and away from the hearth.  Hero padded up along with her and rested at the foot of the bed, and Hawke changed the nappy and tucked the sleepy baby in, the ragdoll at her feet as was their custom, before seeing to bed herself. 

Upon waking, she discovered Fenris in bed next to her, settled under the covers, and the fire on the hearth having died down most of the way.  Bethy was fussing slightly, making the sounds that alerted Hawke to the first signs of being awake and hungry, and so she nursed as usual and Bethy wound up falling asleep between her mother and father.  Hawke had to admit surprise to herself; she expected Fenris to want to sleep at his mansion.  However, probably with the comfort of the food and the wine, and the open invitation to make Hawke’s home his own, he opted to stay there.  Her bed was certainly more comfortable than anything in that broken-down wreck he called his home, she reckoned. 

She woke again to find Fenris taking his turn at changing the baby.  “I did not mean to wake you,” he said, his voice hushed.  “I was going to put her to your breast and let you sleep; you seemed like you needed it.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, between yawns, and cuddled up to Bethy just as she was, with her night gown unlaced and pulled down so the baby could get to her breast.  Fenris brushed loose strands of hair out of her face and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before lying down again himself, but he did not go to sleep immediately and instead watched them in the ever-dying firelight.  When next she woke, morning light was streaming through the windows, and Hawke felt better rested than she had for a while, even with the constant waking.  There would, hopefully, be much to do over the next week, including shopping of various kinds, dealing with paperwork and bureaucrats, and, hopefully, a sort of return to the work she had been used to.

She supposed that she would need to look in on getting a nanny, until Orana begged to offer her services in that area.

“Mistress, I was taking care of little Bethy back in Grunding; might I not take care of her here, as well?  It is not like my duties here are onerous.”

Hawke smiled and gave Orana a light hug.  “That’s a brilliant idea.  And we have no need of hiding anything, and you’re used to my comings and goings.  Or were used to them, at least.  We just need to get used to using the bubby-pot and a rag for a teat, if we’re not going to have a wet-nurse about the place.”

“I am sure it will not take us long to figure it out, Mistress,” Orana replied, kindly.  “But perhaps you should look into jobs that do not take you far from home, for the time being?  I know you and Messere Fenris sparred some, back in Grunding, but you’ve had a child now, and you might need more practice before you can fight again.”

“Between having a child and having the Arishok’s blade through me, it’s a wonder if I can still fight at all,” she muttered.  “No, no, I’m not arguing, Orana.  You make sense, and I agree with you.  We’ll stick close to home: small jobs, at first, and then work up to bigger ones.  I need my strength back, before we risk anything more than that.”

“Very good, Mistress.”  Orana seemed inordinately pleased with herself at their compromise.

It was quick enough, getting in to see Seneschal Bran and getting the adoption papers certified in Kirkwall.  With Aveline and Sebastian there, representing the city and the Chantry as they were, and with everything else _extremely_ official-looking, Bran had little choice but to ratify the “adoption” as genuine and congratulate Hawke on her new bundle of joy. 

After that was said and done, and she dismissed from seeing Bran, Aveline asked Hawke to stop by her office.  Having nothing else scheduled for the immediate future, Hawke obliged, only to be met with the sweetest little baby carriage.

“Oh Aveline, it’s adorable!  I’m not sure how I’ll get it up and down stairs with her in it, but it’s just precious,” Hawke cooed.  It had yellow trim on it, and soft yellow blankets, and a cover to help keep the sun off.  Hawke had planned on carrying Bethy around as she had been doing, but the carriage would make certain things easier, and it even had a little basket at the bottom to hold small amounts of shopping, or weaponry.  “Really, thank you,” she said, feeling tears start to prick her eyes, hot. 

“It’s nothing, Hawke, truly.  Donnic and I felt you needed a little something proper to welcome you home.”

“The yellow is so cute, though,” Hawke told her.  “It’s just… it’s perfect, Aveline.”

Getting it around the stairs was, as she suspected, rather difficult, but considering Hawke hardly ever went anywhere just by herself, whoever her companion was for the day helped her ease the carriage up and down stairs as needed, and Bethy seemed to enjoy it well enough.

The next stop was the Chantry, to see Sebastian, ostensibly, but also to have a word with the Grand Cleric regarding christenings.  Fenris cared little about religion, and Hawke cared even less, but her mother was christened in the Kirkwall Chantry, by the Grand Cleric herself, and Hawke felt it was fitting to her mother’s memory if she were to arrange for such a thing for Bethy.  It would be something for Carver to attend, as well; they had so little left for their family to celebrate, so little left of their heritage, that holding on to every little thing they could meant a lot to Hawke, at least, and Carver, to a certain extent. 

As was expected, the Grand Cleric made a few minutes for the Champion of Kirkwall and she, too, cooed over the small babe.  Sebastian presented Hawke with a little bear with a yellow ribbon wrapped ‘round its neck, for Bethy to chew on when she got old enough.

Hawke laughed at the little bear.  “I wasn’t meaning to go around and pick up presents from everyone,” she joked.

Sebastian smiled, as did Elthina.  “Child, you have been presented with a wondrous gift.  It is not every day someone takes a child that is not theirs into their home, and gives them a family.  Especially so unexpectedly.”  She smiled coyly, and Hawke wondered if the resemblance to Fenris truly shone through so well.  “Perhaps next we will get to celebrate a wedding for you, hmm?”  Maker, she blushed at that, and Sebastian laughed, teasingly now.

“Your Grace, I dinnae think Hawke was thinking in that direction,” he said.

“Oh?  What about that young man I’ve seen her with?  The elf, with the white hair?”

“You wouldn’t be opposed to such a union?” she asked, surprised.  “Or even that of a mage?  I can hardly hide who, or what, I am, anymore.”

“You have been the Maker’s gift to Kirkwall, Hawke.  And the Maker loves all of His children, and wants to see them happy.  Marriage and a family are on the path to happiness for many.  You have started with children before marriage, which isn’t typical, but that doesn’t mean it’s not what He meant for you.  And you’re hardly the traditional type.  Your mother spoke to me of your fondness of your elven friend, many times.  It was her hope that the relationship blossoming between you two would turn into something that would make you happy, even if she could not get you wed to someone more appropriate to your status.”

“Status and standing mean little to me,” she confessed.

“There are more important things in life than titles,” Elthina agreed, nodding.  “If you wished to wed him, and he you, then I would give you my blessing, just like I will give my blessing to your daughter.  We need a Champion who is happy in herself, and not just in her works.”

“I knew I wasn’t the only one who cottoned on to your feelings towards Fenris,” Sebastian said, nudging Hawke with his elbow.  “It’s fairly obvious to anyone who watches the two of you together for more than five minutes.”

She felt the blush rise again.  “I didn’t mean for it to be that obvious,” she said, ducking her head down.  Elthina and Sebastian shared a look and a chuckle.

“Oh, it’s nothing profane,” he promised her.  “You’re just very comfortable together, and he _does_ have sad puppy eyes, like Merrill told him that one time.”

“It makes me wistful for my youth,” Elthina said, with a sigh.  When they both looked at her, surprised, she laughed.  “I was not always as old as I am now,” she chided.  “I had some youthful scrapes, myself.”

“I… hardly think this is appropriate to talk about, Your Grace,” Sebastian said, and it was _his_ turn to blush.

“And I need to be getting on.  I have more things I need to pick up, and I promised Varric I’d come by to see him.  Although I suppose The Hanged Man isn’t exactly the place for babies.  He’ll have to make the trip up to Hightown to see me more often, I think.”

“Let me know when you are ready for the christening,” Elthina told her, in that soft, gentle voice of hers.  “Just send word, and we will make things ready for you, Hawke.”

The rest of the day was spent walking about with Aveline, who was, ostensibly, checking on the guards on patrol and was, actually, just keeping Hawke company.  The letters had been fine, but Aveline had missed her friend.  Hawke had helped her get to Kirkwall, get into Kirkwall, get into the guard, get her position as Guard-Captain, and get together with Donnic; she owed her successes and more to Hawke, and, beyond that, she had _missed_ her terribly.  Besides, there was a cute baby to admire, and so long as it wasn’t _her_ cute baby, Aveline was content with following along.

Of course, there were several stops back at her estate during the day, for feedings and changings.  Hawke was glad, for once, that she was so in the thick of things, with her location; it made it easier to pop home for a quick feeding, so that she did not have to rely too much on the goat’s milk; Anders said it wasn’t as good for babies, anyway, and to avoid it if possible.  Bodahn was not, of course, in on the secret, but it was easy enough to excuse feeding times by saying that little Bethy fed best when it was quiet, and Hawke drank the portion of the goat’s milk to allay any suspicions. 

She was a bit disappointed, but not surprised, that Fenris was not accompanying them.  He had, after all, spent basically an entire year in Hawke’s company, and she did not blame him if he wanted to be by himself for a time.  But when she arrived in time for dinner at her estate, he was waiting in the library, reading a book and curled up on the plush sofa there.

“Of course you’d show up for dinner, and leave me to do all the hard work by myself,” she teased him, sitting down comfortably in the newly-acquired rocking chair and unlacing the top of her dress so that Bethy could nurse.

“I had things to do,” he told her, simply.

“What _were_ you occupied with all day?” she asked, curious.

“Things.  Among them, looking for mercenary work.”

“Mercenary work!  Why would you need to do that?  Do you need the money?  I’ve got several jobs lined up,” she told him.  “If you give it a few days, you’ll have some gold.”

He sighed and laid the book aside.  By the fact that he wasn’t looking at her, she decided it was either something he was embarrassed about, or something he was ashamed of.  “I… have responsibilities now that I did not before.  I spent my money recklessly, and have little left in the way of savings.  It was… brought to my attention that perhaps I should keep better accounts of myself, and that if I am to be your… _companion_ … that perhaps I should reflect on how to better my apparent status.”

“You mean someone told you that you needed to dress better so that you could run around and kill people with me?”  Bethy whimpered at the irritated tone in her voice.  “Maker, Fenris!”

“That is not… precisely the topic the conversation had, but it was suggested… It does not matter what was suggested.  I wish to earn coin and save it, and that is enough.  Therefore, I will look at other mercenary jobs, as well as taking on jobs when you need me.”

“If you truly need coin, I have plenty,” she told him.  “Varric invested well for me.”

“I… Marian, let me do this, and do not argue it with me,” he said, his voice pleading, and he still would not look at her.

“If you wish it,” she said, after a long pause.  Bethy grabbed at her hair, which was loose and hanging down, holding it tightly in a fist; this was a new thing, the grabbing and holding so tightly, and thus far it was Hawke’s hair that enjoyed the attention the most.  “In fact, there are some simple jobs on my list.  If you would like, I’ll hand them over to you and you can choose who goes along with you.  It isn’t as if I’m going to be able to get to everything, anyway, and, as has been pointed out to me, I need to stay closer to home.”

“I will take that into consideration,” Fenris said, gravely.  “It would benefit both of us, in a way, if I did.” He looked more in her general direction then, until his eyes fell on little Bethy.  “She was no trouble for you today?”

“None at all.  And the Grand Cleric agreed to do the christening.  Carver will like that, I think; she christened Mother, as well.”

“Ah.  That is good, then, since it is what you wish.”

“I’d have not pursued it if you objected,” she reminded him, and he made a slight negating gesture.

“It does not bother me.  I may not consider myself an Andrastian, but it is not for hate of the religion.  It just… is not something I have considered overly.  And I know your views on the Chantry as well.  It is obviously something that means a lot to you, and I have no objections.  Think nothing further of it.”

“You’d tell me if it bothered you, right?”

He chuckled slightly and looked up to meet her eyes.  “I would tell you, Hawke.  I swear it.”

“Well.  Good.”  She shifted Bethy to the other breast; Fenris was watching, intent on them as always, as if he weren’t quite sure they wouldn’t disappear if he blinked.  “Do you know what Orana has prepared for dinner?”

Fenris seemed to shake himself out of some sort of reverie and brought his eyes back to her face.  “I do not.  I take it I am invited to stay?”

“You never need an invitation.  You know that.”

“Good to know,” he replied.  “Perhaps I can take you up on that offer tonight?”

Hawke smirked slightly.  “Messere, I am beginning to believe you have fond feelings towards me.”  He touched the ribbon on his wrist, darting his eyes away from her face again, a blush tinging on those dark cheeks.

“Now that we have returned to Kirkwall… Is it not better, Hawke, that you find someone more fit for your station?”

Her brows drew down in confusion.  “What?”

“You are a titled noble here.  You are wealthy, and your hand in marriage will be much sought after.  Do none of those things appeal to you?”

“And what of you?” she said, shifting around so that she was more comfortable, crossing one leg over the other.  “Do your feelings on the subject not matter?”

“I am an escaped slave and an elf,” he protested, but softly.

“And I’m still an apostate, even if they did make me their Champion.  Fenris, if I didn’t want you around, you’d know it.  I’m perfectly content having you by my side.”  A thought occurred to her then, and she swallowed hard.  “Unless… perhaps you no longer wish to be my… companion.”

He shook his head, the shaggy hair falling into his eyes as he examined the red silk ribbon around his wrist.  “That is not it at all.  I just… Perhaps I am not the best one to be turning your affections towards,” he said, as if trying out the words.

“The father of my child isn’t the best person to give my affections to.  Yes, I can see how that is perfectly logical,” she said, the sarcasm heavy and obvious, making him wince.  “Fenris, if you don’t want to… be with me, or near me, or work for me, or with me, just tell me.  Don’t try to play these word games.  I can take a hint, but I’d rather not have to nearing seven in the evening.”

“I… Have you given no thoughts to marriage?”

“When have I had time?”  She shrugged slightly; Bethy grabbed hold of the neckline of her dress and held tightly to it, her eyes drifting shut.  “I’ve been rather busy, after all.  If you are proposing, there are more romantic ways to do it, you know.  If you’re testing out the water, I’m pretty sure a ‘yes’ is guaranteed, if you decide to do it a little more romantically.”

“I… see.  I appreciate your candor, Marian,” he murmured.

“Like I said, I’d rather not have to be taking hints right now; I’m a little bit tired.  If you wanted to play at word games, you should have caught me closer to lunch.”

“Then perhaps we should table this discussion for another time.  You are tired, Bethy is tired, and my day has also been trying.  Dinner, baths, bed?”

“Maker, yes,” she said, relieved to have something simple laid out in front of her.

Dinner was a simple pork loin with applesauce, bath time was hot and lovely and done by herself, as Fenris was looking after the sleeping princess, and bedtime involved Fenris massaging her feet without even being asked and curling up around her, holding her close as they drifted off.  He seemed happier and more thoughtful at the same time, saying very little but keeping that little slight smile on his face.  Bethy woke twice during the night, as was her custom, and Hawke was able to manage both times with aplomb, letting Fenris sleep as deeply as he was able.  Bethy truly was a good baby, sweet-natured and not much prone to fussing or crying, for which she was grateful; Hawke had heard the horror stories of colic and wanted no part in that, and Bethy was old enough, at that point, to have allowed her to escape the horror altogether. 

Before the week was out, it was a common thing to see Hawke pushing around little Bethy in the carriage, usually trailed by Fenris or Aveline, Varric or Isabela.  Merrill and Anders were, as usual, rarities amongst her companions because of what they were –it was far easier for the Champion, Lady Hawke, to get away with being an apostate living openly than it was for the Dalish elf and the Grey Warden—but even they were found in her company, once or twice, when she strolled through Lowtown on visits to see her uncle.  Gamlen may be a drunken ass who lost the family fortune, but he was a blood relative, and it took only one lecture by Fenris on the importance of family for her to duck her head and admit defeat in that particular argument.  Gamlen got to meet his great-niece, although as far as he was concerned, she was adopted, and the three visits did not last overly long; Lowtown by day was safe enough, but Lowtown by night was safe only if you were Hawke and her crew, and she dare not risk the life of her daughter in order to take out a few thugs.

It was an entire fortnight before Hawke went out on patrol, and that was only because she had to bribe her entire crew with promises of alcohol and gambling if they _deigned to allow her_ to do as her job entailed.  It was a simple thing, and she stayed close to home: take out some of the thugs who wandered the streets at night in Hightown.  The gangs seemed to never end, and once one got built up enough to make itself a nuisance, another took over and was subsequently replaced by another.  It kept her in steady pay from the city, however, and the citizens were now keenly aware that it was Hawke and her merry band of misfits keeping their streets safe at night.

By the time she returned home, in the early hours, Fenris trailing her, Hawke was exhausted.  She had used much more mana that she had gotten used to over the last year, and one of the bastards had put an arrow through her shoulder; Anders had fixed her up, right as raindrops, and quickly to boot, but even so, the pain lingered slightly.  _Before_ , Hawke would not have been as much of a target.  Now, her reflexes were slightly slower, and her hips moved differently.  Fenris shot her concerned looks the entire way back to her estate, and, despite the time, he insisted that she get a bath before either of them peeked in on where Bethy was sleeping near Orana.  Hawke detested the fuss he was making, but obliged him, nonetheless; petulant Fenris was worse than impossible to live with, and, truthfully, she was rather sweaty and blood-stained. 

“I’m just out of practice,” she told him, as she scrubbed the dried blood off from her shoulder, trying to maneuver her head so she could look at the light scar that was left behind.  “I need to spar more.  I need to learn my new boundaries.”

“Why will you not let the rest of us handle these things, Marian?”  Fenris was leaned up against the door, eyes lidded; he had blood splatters in his hair and smudged across one cheek, and his armor would need cleaning, too.  “You are a mother now.  You have other responsibilities.  I doubt you need the coin, but even if you did, things such as this are too much of a risk for you.”

“I’m fine, Fenris.  Besides, I think I’ve rather gotten used to the idea of killing people for money.”  He snorted and shook his head, opening his eyes all the way.

“You should not be so willing to involve yourself with others, Hawke.  These are not your responsibilities.  Bethy is.”

“Kirkwall is,” she reminded him.  “I am not Champion for nothing.  I can’t just rest on whatever laurels I might have.  Kirkwall needs me, and I owe it a debt.  Where else would I be able to live openly as a mage?”

“Why not Ferelden?  The Hero of Ferelden was a mage, and she got the Queen to give the circle there autonomy.  I am certain that a mage living openly in Ferelden would garner no suspicion.”

“And what of you?”  She dunked her head under the water, holding her breath, and ran her fingers through it quickly.  After surfacing again and taking several deep breaths, she wiped the water from her eyes.  “Would you follow me to Ferelden?”

“I enjoy following you,” he said, enigmatically, and Hawke rolled her eyes.

“You enjoy watching my bony backside, for some reason.”

“Not so bony,” he murmured, and that earned him a splash of the water.  “Marian, I would follow you if you wished it.  But Kirkwall is dangerous, and no place to live.  You have said that Lothering is starting to rebuild; why not return there?”

“Or why not return to Grunding, you mean?  A little house, a farmwife lifestyle?”

“You said you had not thought of it as an option before, but is it not, now?”

She shook her head, droplets of water beading onto her face, and started scrubbing soap into her hair.  “I don’t know, Fenris.  But it’s not something that’s going to be settled tonight.”

He nodded, his eyes half-closing again, and tilted his head back against the door.  “It is late, at any rate.  I am certain you will want to feed Bethy and go to sleep.”

“Are you staying?” she asked, scrubbing the soap into her hair roughly.

“I… had a thought to,” Fenris confessed.

“If you’re staying, fix me something to eat,” she told him.  “There should be leftovers from dinner.  Fighting has given me a bit of an appetite.”

After she had bathed, and eaten, and nursed Bethy, when she was warm and curled up under her blanket, Fenris sleeping at her side, Hawke smiled, satisfied enough with how things were going and ready for whatever the next day would bring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long! Sorry about that, but I couldn't find any good place to break it up into two chapters and still be able to keep the flow the way I wanted it. Hopefully the next chapter will be back to normal.


	14. Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke learns about what happens when she goes too long between feedings, and the Hawke Legacy makes itself an issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some graphic violence and there's some talk about boobies.

Bethy’s fourth month ran smoothly as well as quite predictably.  She developed on-time for all her baby steps, and Anders dropped by regularly, both to use the mansion as a place to sleep (irregularly) and to check on mommy and baby.  Fenris, he cared nothing for, but he kept hoping that Hawke would relent and fall into his arms.  Hawke knew he would continue to be disappointed in that respect, as she had no desire to cease things with Fenris.

The christening went about as well as Hawke could expect, considering she had such a diverse circle of acquaintances and friends.  Anders refused to attend, and got into quite the row with Hawke over whether or not Bethy should even be christened.  Merrill enjoyed the opportunity to learn more about the Chantry and its lovely stories.  Fenris actually dressed in something other than his armor or a plain tunic and pants, including wearing shoes for the occasion, which Hawke had not believed he actually possessed until she saw them.  Aveline bought Bethy a darling little gown to wear, which Bethy mainly gummed and chewed on, and after the actual ceremony they all came back to Hawke’s estate, where Orana had prepared an absolute feast, considering the time of year; the beginning of summer was not well known, in Kirkwall, for the freshest of produce, but Orana did as best she could, anyway.  Not that Bethy was concerned with what others were eating, so long as she was getting plenty of milk of her own, but the others appreciated the lengths to which the young elven girl had gone.

With Summerday having come and gone without Hawke giving it much thought, she was looking forward to getting out with her crew to the Coast.  Aveline had mentioned that, with Hawke’s absence, raiders and bandits had swooped down and pretty much taken the place back over.  Hawke was more than ready to get out there and change things.  Not that she needed the money, or the loot, but she needed the stress relief that came with shooting lightning at fools, and Fenris, too, she knew, needed to get out there and do what he did best.  They were parents, and they had some sort of odd relationship with the two of them, but that did not mean they weren’t their own people, as well.

The plan was for Hawke to bring Fenris, Merrill, Varric, and Isabela along with her, and they would be gone for two days, with one night out camping.  She felt anxious about the idea at first, and the anxiety only grew the more she looked at Bethy.  The babe had started trying to sit up, which Anders had told her was early, and to not expect her to be very good at it at first, and she was rolling over, from her stomach to her back, with a great deal more regularity than she had only a fortnight prior.  Her eyes were still blue, that baby blue that most small infants have, although she could see the subtle changes that would mean that Bethy’s eyes would wind up being green, although her hair had little choice but to be that dark shock of black, between her own and Fenris’s natural colors.  Just _looking_ at Bethy made Hawke’s heart ache a little bit, and the grand idea of trekking up the coast and killing bandits and raiders and slavers suddenly seemed quite foolish, in light of all that she would be leaving behind for the two days. 

She was, however, determined in this course of action, and the next morning dawned bright and early, with good weather.  Hawke brushed a bare kiss over Bethy’s head and told her to behave herself for Orana, and then she and Fenris left the estate toting their weapons, fully accoutered in their armors.

They stopped by The Hanged Man, to pick up Varric and Isabela, and because Merrill was already there, waiting, they were saved a trip to the alienage.  Merrill, surprisingly keen-eyed, frowned knowingly at Hawke.

“There’s too much tension in your face, lethallan.  We do not have to do this, if you do not want to leave little Bethany.  We can go alone, with Fenris, and you can stay here.”

Hawke shook her head, trying to calm the tension from her face and failing.  “I need to do this, for myself,” she told the Dalish woman. 

“Hawke,” Fenris said, quietly, and he grabbed her elbow.

“I’m fine,” she told him, and when no one seemed convinced, she sighed and pulled her arm away from Fenris.  “I’m fine,” she repeated.  “It’s normal.”

“It is unnecessary,” Fenris told her, brows drawing down into a scowl.

“It is necessary _for_ _me_ ,” she said.  And it was; she had things to prove to herself, as well.  She could be a working mother and an attentive mother, all at the same time.  It would work out; she would show them.

“Chuckles, if you need to hang back, we can do this,” Varric said.  Isabela, busy leaning herself against one of the supporting posts in the tavern, eyed her pointedly and looked unimpressed.

“I’m fine!” she shouted, and rolled her eyes heavenwards.  “If you all want to sit around and play nursemaid, fine by me, but _I_ am going out to the Coast and _I_ am going to kill some bandits.”

“Sounds good to me,” Isabela remarked, and swayed her way out of the tavern.  Hawke gave the others pointed looks and followed after, not really caring, but fully expecting, the others to follow her out as well.

The long walk did her good, as did getting out and around adults.  The topic stayed mostly away from the baby, although Merrill did ask a few questions, being the most curious and probably even more excited about the various changes Bethy had been going through than Hawke herself was.  Hawke’s entire world, the last four months, had been revolving around the child, and it felt _good_ to be out and doing something that wasn’t family-related.  Even if the father was accompanying them. 

If the few previous bouts of fighting she had engaged in didn’t show her exactly how out of shape and out of practice she was, the hiking and fighting along the Wounded Coast certainly held a lot of shock for her.  It felt wrong when she pivoted, for example; her body was having to re-adjust the center of gravity, and she felt absolutely exhausted after their first real battle with a group of raiders and especially disgusting when she realized that she had bits of raider in her hair and blood splattering all over her robes.

There was something else that she hadn’t counted on: her breasts _ached_.  They felt tight, and hot, and abruptly, in the middle of their second raider battle of the day, her breasts began _leaking_ through her robes.  Her favorite robes!  Hawke stopped in the middle of the fight, her staff resting in the crook of her elbow, and gestured towards her chest rather ineffectually.  Maker, between the blood and the leaking milk, her favorite robes were going to be absolutely _ruined_.

“Maker’s mercy, what’s going on?!” she cried.  Merrill jogged up beside her and smacked one of the raiders in the head with the butt end of her staff, then twisted her hand in a familiar gesture and another one, on Hawke’s left side, was trapped in a nest of roots.

“Oh, Hawke, your breasts are leaking!” Merrill said, alarmed.

“I know that,” she hollered, in a disgusted tone.  “I don’t know _why!”_

“Do they hurt?” Merrill asked her, glaring at the raider and pointing a finger at him; the raider caught on fire and started screaming.  Hawke obliged his begging to put the flames out by encasing him in ice. 

“They haven’t felt very good all afternoon,” she acknowledged, holding out her hand and making a fist, enclosing the unfortunate raider in a crushing prison. 

“We should check them when we’re done,” Merrill told her, encouragingly.

“Perhaps we should head back after this,” Fenris said, calmly, sweeping in to take the crushed raider’s head off.  “The abomination should be able to tell you what is wrong,” he told her, before moving swiftly across the battlefield to take on another raider, maintaining calm as always.

“Do your breasts leak often?” Isabela asked, suddenly appearing to Hawke’s side, beside Merrill.  “I wonder what your milk tastes like.”  She grinned lasciviously.

“You’ll not find out,” Fenris told her, kneeling down to wipe his blade clean.  Hawke looked around and was relieved to see that this particular gang of raiders were all dead or in the process of becoming so.

“You are such a spoilsport,” Isabela muttered, kneeling down to loot the unfortunates.  “None of you know how to share,” she complained, pocketing some particular treasure she had discovered.  Hawke and Merrill joined her in the looting, three darkly-haired magpies, while Varric and Fenris enjoyed the indelicate task of ensuring that the dead stayed that way.  They had been attacked by too many people come back from the dead to be comfortable with those that might not be all the way just lying about.

“Just particular,” Fenris assured her, drawing his dagger across a throat.

“I just want to know why they’re leaking all over the place,” Hawke complained.  Her breasts suddenly felt over-sensitive, especially the nipples, and she tugged the front of her robe away to try to put some distance between them.  “Maker, I’m not going to be able to make it back to Kirkwall with all of this on.  We’re going to have to stop and let me wash up a little bit, at least.”

“A swim sounds fantastic, Hawke!” Merrill said, happily.  “We could all use a bit of a dip after the excitement, I’d wager.”

“If it means getting to see you naked, sweet thing, I’ll take it,” Isabela added, offering Hawke a handful of silver and a scant number of gold coins.  “These guys were cheap, or didn’t carry much on them.  If we could find their base of operations, though, we might be able to walk away with quite the haul.”

“Did anyone think to pack some extra clothes?” Hawke asked hopefully, glancing towards Fenris.  Of them all, he would come closer to fitting her.  “I can probably deal with it being damp, but….”

“We did not pack for a vacation, Hawke,” he said, roughly.  “We will finish up here and head back to Kirkwall.  You cannot be out if your… If your chest is sore,” he said, catching himself and blushing to the tips of his ears.  “Sore and leaking,” he amended, looking as if he wished the ground would swallow him up.

“It’s probably just from being away from little Bethy,” Merrill said, and all eyes turned to her.  She blinked owlishly and then shrugged.  “I _was_ First, you know.  I was training to be Keeper; it’s not all lore and magic.  We had to know practical things, too.  Sometimes nursing mothers, when they go too long without nursing, wind up leaking, sort of like Hawke is doing, and their breasts get sore and might feel all hot and tender.  It happened a lot when new mothers in the clan went off to hunt too soon, for example, and were away for too long.”  The eyes shifted to Hawke, and she felt herself color.

“Maybe… Maybe we were away a little bit too long,” she sighed, shaking her head.  “Perhaps this was a bit ambitious.”

“Then you will stay closer to home,” Fenris told her, cleaning his dagger, this time, and sheathing it. 

“I just… wanted to feel useful, I guess,” she said, and a sob suddenly welled up in her.  Hot tears pricked her eyes and she rubbed at them with the heels of her hands, quickly, before anyone noticed.  Unfortunately, everyone noticed.

“You _are_ useful, sweet thing.  You just happen to be a mommy now.  Wait until she’s weaned, and we’ll make sure to go on some long trips out here and kill all the nasty blighters you want,” Isabela told her, all support.

“I don’t feel very useful,” she muttered, mainly to herself.  She pulled the robes away from her chest again and shook them slightly; they weren’t soaked, by any means, but the milk had gone through the tightly constricting breast band and then through the shimmering samite.  She just hoped they hadn’t stained, as it would be quite embarrassing to be running around Kirkwall with breastmilk stains on the chest of her best fighting robes.

It was agreed upon that they would stop at one of the nearby streams so that they could all take a much-needed dip.  Each of them had a pack for at least two days, and Hawke was enjoying herself enough that she wasn’t ready to go back just yet, even with the aching breasts and the potential for leakage, so while they were relaxing near the water, Hawke had them all bring out their rations of food.  They would wind up being back in Kirkwall well before nightfall, of course, but she could, at least, play pretend that they would be camping out for a longer period.

It was almost like _before_ , this time: splashing in the water with Merrill and Isabela, eating the dried jerky and bread and hard cheese, lying back in the grass and watching the clouds go overhead.  It was almost like before, and it was good, to remember this, to enjoy it.  The remembrance provided a sharp contrast, something to make Hawke appreciate her memories all the more, as well as appreciate what she had now.  It was strange, to feel tears pricking her eyes; she certainly hadn’t got all her emotions under control again.  It was one thing, to have Anders warn her this might happen, or worse, and it was another thing to actually undergo the odd mood swings.

An hour later, they were packed up and ready to march again, bantering amongst themselves.  Hawke was disappointed that her great adventure was ending so quickly, but at least they had been able to get out and do a little something, and she could report to Aveline that a couple of bands of raiders had been taken care of. 

Once she got back home, Hawke immediately set out to find Orana and Bethy.  The sun was just touching the horizon and there had been several missed feedings with her child, and she wanted to know if Bethy had handled it well. 

All Hawke had to do was follow the crying, however, and as soon as Bethy, who was being gently bounced in Orana’s arms and shushed at, caught sight of her mother, the infant waved her arms in the air and cried even more lustily.  Hawke felt her breasts respond, tightening and feeling even hotter slightly, and, embarrassingly, leaking again.

“When did she last eat?” Hawke asked, crossing the room and taking Bethy, who did not cease her tears but seemed to cry even harder than she had upon seeing Hawke.  Hawke’s robe did not lace up, being meant more for battle and less for nursing infants, and so Orana got behind her and started to help her undo some of the clasps.

“She’s barely touched any of the goat’s milk, Mistress,” Orana told her.  “She knows what to do, but she was distraught at your not being here.”

A flash of guilt ran through Hawke, hot and cold at the same time, and it made her feel a little nauseated.  Still, when enough buttons had been undone, Hawke immediately carried Bethy into the library and settled down with her.  Bethy grabbed for her hair, which was hanging down in a ponytail, and latched on, still sniffling every now and then and watching her mother with large, bright eyes.  They looked greener today than they did yesterday; would they end up being green?

Fenris had, as was his wont lately, followed her into the estate, but he had disappeared off somewhere while she searched for their daughter.  Now he came into the library and took the scene in, his brows drawing down with concern. 

“She missed me,” Hawke confessed, feeling that guilt go through her again.

“That is obvious,” Fenris replied, settling in an unused chair. 

“I’m not going to be able to leave out for days at a time like I used to, am I?” she asked, but it was a rhetorical question.

“And it is not safe to bring an infant with you,” Fenris agreed, placing the palms of his hands down on his thighs.

“You’d rather I stay home, too,” she accused.

“I confess that I would, until she is old enough that separation is something she deals with more easily.  Perhaps when she is done nursing?”

Hawke shifted, uncomfortable, and scowled at the floor.  Bethy sniffed again, pulling her mouth away from her mother’s breast with a little popping sound, and nearly started crying before Hawke made soothing sounds and replaced the end of her ponytail with her finger, giving Bethy something to cling to.

“Marian, I understand that you want to feel useful.  You are not… _not_ being useful, because you are doing this now.  I am certain that Bethy finds you quite useful.”

“It’s not the same,” Hawke protested, shaking her head.  “It’s… Maker’s breath, I can’t explain it to you.”

“You could try,” Fenris told her, all intense concentration.

“No, I really can’t.  And it doesn’t matter; I’ll just have to not plan any trips away from home without Bethy for the foreseeable future.”

He nodded and seemed to relax some.  “Then your… breasts?  They are easing in the pain?”

“They’ll feel better soon,” she replied, reassuring him.  Fenris did not _look_ particularly reassured, but he settled back a little nonetheless.  “I guess I’ll just have to look on the bright side.  At least I’ll have to stay around the city more, and I guess that means we can focus more on keeping the streets safe at night, as opposed to worrying overmuch about the Coast.”

“You do know how to look on the bright side of things,” Fenris replied, a little half-smile playing on his lips.  “Although… is there no way you could put an end to doing such things?”

“I’m the city’s Champion,” Hawke replied, shrugging slightly.  “I can’t _not_ protect Kirkwall now.”

“You have other responsibilities,” he pointed out, nodding slightly to Bethy.

“So do you, yet you still go out with Varric and Isabela and fight.”

“That is different,” he said, and it was his turn to protest now.  “You are needed more for Bethy than I am, and… It is different, suffice it to say.”

“Are you staying tonight?” she asked him, as much to change the topic as suffering from any genuine curiosity.

“I had planned on it, unless you wish me to go,” he told her, letting his bangs fall into his eyes again to hide his expression.

Hawke huffed an irritated breath and scowled.  “I was just asking, Fenris.  Maker’s light, I cannot even have a conversation with anyone anymore that doesn’t revolve around the baby.”  He winced visibly, but Hawke did not feel apologetic.  “I just… I’m ready for some grown up time.” 

“You had several invitations to parties in that stack of correspondence,” Fenris pointed out.  “You could easily attend any of them.”

“And would you attend with me?”

It was his turn to shrug uncomfortably.  “I… would not be welcome at such events,” he told her. 

“Then I suppose I wouldn’t, either.  Besides, all those things wind up being are endless lines of drunk men trying to get me cornered, or women my mother’s age trying to set me up with their sons.”

“Then I definitely should not attend,” Fenris put in, nearly growling.

“Maybe I can start going to Wicked Grace nights again.  Or we could have them here, sometimes.”

“Are you that eager to give Isabela your coin?”

“I win sometimes,” she said, pouting slightly. 

“You are even worse at it than I am, Hawke,” Fenris said, dryly.

“Lies and slander,” she replied.  In her arms, Bethy fussed and so Hawke moved her to the other breast, an activity that always seemed to fascinate Fenris when he was present.  She doubted it was the sight of her breast that was so interesting.  He always seemed so relaxed and at ease when they sat around and talked like this, Bethy nursing in her arms, or napping in his.  “But,” she said, once she got the baby situated again, “perhaps we could have them over.”

“It is your home, Hawke,” he said.  Odd; he usually called her Marian, when it was just the two of them, and Hawke only in public, or around others, and here he had done it twice.

“Is something wrong, Fenris?”

“Is something supposed to be wrong?”

Hawke rolled her eyes and sighed.  “You would tell me if something was wrong, right?  And not leave me to guess?”

“I would let you know, yes,” he assured her. 

“Okay, then,” she said, and wiggled her bare toes.  She fidgeted slightly and moved around to a more comfortable position.  Fenris, seeming to sense what she needed, got a pillow from the other end of the sofa and handed it to her, and she thanked him, relieved.  He sat beside her instead of in the chair he had been in, however. 

“Something on your mind?  Even if it isn’t something that’s wrong?” she asked, trying again.

“Perhaps,” he replied.  “It is not something I have finished thinking on, but my mind is, indeed, elsewhere.  I will let you know once I am done.”

“If you get a headache from all that brooding, let me know and I’ll fix it up for you,” she teased.

“I do not brood,” he said, affecting a scowl that she knew was not genuine.

“What was it that Varric said?  If your brooding was any more impressive, women would swoon and have broody babies in your honor?”  Hawke grinned at him and elbowed him gently.  “Bethy’s not exactly broody, but…”

“Would you?” he asked her, suddenly.

“Would I…?”

“Would you… have another one?  With… me?”

“Maker, not anytime soon,” she said, eyes going wide.  “Could you imagine the horror?  Being pregnant and dealing with an infant at the same time.”

“I didn’t mean soon.  I simply… wondered.  If you would be willing.  Not that I was suggesting anything more than that.  It was a simple question.”

“It’s not exactly something I’ve thought of,” she confessed.  “I… It would be something I would need to think on.  In a year.  Or three.”

“But you would not send me away during that year?  Or three?”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” Hawke told him.  “If nothing else, we’re friends.  And I hope we’ll always be friends, even if you decided this wasn’t what you wanted.”

“We will always be friends, Marian,” he said, and Hawke felt a little bit of relief at the use of her first name.

“Well, that’s good and settled, then.  For the rest, I’ll have to think about it.”

“An excellent plan.”  He fidgeted nervously for a moment.  “Orana is making dinner tonight?”

“I believe she is.  Why?”

“Her food is very good,” Fenris said.  “She cooks well.”

“Yes,” Hawke said.  “It’s very good.”  She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.  “Are you angling for an invitation?”

“I would not turn such an invitation down, were it extended,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes again.  “Maker’s light, Fenris.  Would you care to stay for dinner?  And sleep over?  And just stay here forever?  Open invitation, remember?”

“I would not presume to press on your hospitality,” he said, formally.

She nudged him again and grimaced slightly.  “That’s not pressing or presuming.  Now go tell Orana to set a place at the table for you.  Hopefully she’ll be done soon and then we can eat.” 

* * *

 

Hawke’s decision to stay closer to home was approved of greatly by Fenris, and not-so-subtly approved of by everyone else.  Even Isabela wanted her to stay closer to home.

“You’re a mommy now, sweet thing.  Mommies before Champions.”

“You’d not be saying that if you had a ship.  You’d be begging me to come on it with you.” 

Isabela eyed her up and down for a moment.  “I’m not sure I’d be the one begging to come, Hawke.”  Hawke rolled her eyes and nudged ‘Bela with her elbow, but the fact remained that even the adventurous pirate was ready and willing to keep Hawke close to home. 

Home had become…domestic.  It was still her estate, but now there were _baby_ things all over it, in some of the oddest places.  She had company come over, to ask one favor or another, or to make business arrangements, and often that company wound up sitting on a rag doll, or a teddy bear, or wound up waiting while Hawke cleaned up the spit up from her blouse (for Bethy was going through a very troublesome time and spitting up much more often than she was; Anders told her it was nothing to worry about, but telling mothers that there was nothing to worry about never stopped a mother from worrying) and she was full of apologies and excuses for this or that.

Meanwhile, Fenris was out leading her crew on most of the more difficult jobs that she found crossing her desk, which irked her to no end.  Not that she doubted his ability to do what needed to be done, but when it came to things like mages, Fenris rarely bothered to get the full story, and he always came down on them much more roughly than she would have preferred.  That the majority of mage troubles turned out to involve blood mages and abominations and demons was doubly frustrating, and Hawke was starting to believe that Kirkwall was built on some sort of ancient elvhen burial ground and thus, the veil was terribly thin and the entire place was haunted and possessed. 

There were no _complaints_ about how things were being done, however, and Fenris seemed to have an inordinate pride in acting like the man of the house, which Hawke found disconcerting and amusing all at once.  For all of everything, Fenris _acted_ like they were a couple and treated her like she was his partner, while still maintaining a sort of unsure distance from her.  For example, he refused to move out of his mansion and sell it off, and any time Hawke brought it up, Fenris would wind up sleeping there for a night or two, as if to prove its importance to him in that regard.  And, despite him showing himself as her equal in all things in her home, when they were out and about in public, he still walked behind her and to her right, whether they were going for a stroll or headed out for a job.  It was confusing and frustrating as the bloody Void.

Attempts to speak with him on the matter were met with dissembling and shyness.  Or, rather, Hawke assumed it was shyness.  Perhaps it was more reticence to broach the topic?  He still wore the red ribbon on his wrist, whether on bare wrist or over gauntlet.  Somewhere he had found an Amell crest and had attached it to his hip, over his belt pouch, and when he was out and about with her, trailing behind no matter what errand she was on, he looked nothing so much as a servant for the Hawke/Amell estate.  It galled her to no small end; Fenris was a free man, and an equal, and she hated how elves were treated as second class citizens in general and Fenris in specific, but he seemed content to keep his place there, and to stand in and guard a mage as he had been trained to do.  All of which, of course, made her supremely uncomfortable and none of which, of course, he would discuss with her. 

He slept in her bed, more often than not, nearly nude and curled around her, hot breath ghosting over her neck or shoulders or wherever he happened to have his head tucked in.  She had not taken him for as much of a cuddler as he was, but it seemed that, once Fenris got used to the idea, he was clingy in his sleep.  Those first few times, back in Grunding, when he would awaken from a nightmare, Hawke was quite fearful.  He awoke fully each time, grasping for her, not sure who she was but sure she was a threat.  In six months’ time, he had gotten so used to having her in his bed that now, when he woke from a nightmare, he grasped for her for an entirely different reason.  She wondered if he slept well when he stayed at his mansion; he did not seem to, and she knew that, for her part, she missed having him resting against her.  Even if he did seem to warm the bed beyond all that was decent; the only reason she needed a fire going was for light, and soon her mage lights replaced even that.

Hawke attempted, several times, to move Bethy into the nursery she had set up.  It was her mother’s room, originally, but she felt her mother would appreciate Hawke’s use of it more for her granddaughter than as some sort of macabre memorial to Leandra, and so she had it done up in soft yellows and greens, with a crib, and a rocking chair, and a little dresser.  However, Bethy could not stand to sleep so far away from her mother and father (and on those nights when Fenris slept away, Bethy was fussier than usual) and so she stayed in the small cradle on Hawke’s side of the bed, only sleeping in her crib for naps during the day. 

By this time, Bethy was five months old, and had mastered such arts as rolling over and pushing herself up to a sitting position.  It was quite fascinating, to Hawke, watching her learn to do these things that the grown-ups took for granted.  She babbled, as well, non-stop, in a high baby voice.  Hawke spoke to her as she would anyone else, however, avoiding the baby-talk that seemed to come so naturally to the others. 

It was during this time that Carver began stopping by for visits more often.  Being stationed in the Gallows, he was literally just a short walk away from the estate at any time, and considering he was still a Hawke, and that Templars were not forbidden to marry or have children, Hawke had expected him to come around more often, perhaps looking for someone to settle himself with.  However, his visits were relatively short, although he doted on little Bethy and marveled at how big she was each time, cuddling her against him as if he were a natural at such things. 

When Carver first joined the Order, Hawke was angry and resentful, thinking he was doing it to spite her.  However, as the years passed, she began to see how useful it was to have a brother as a Templar.  And now that she was Champion, the Knight-Commander was in a much worse position to lock her away or make her Tranquil, and having a brother who was a Templar and could, thus, _keep an eye_ on her, worked out quite well indeed.  Considering that Hawke and Carver bickered like siblings, and seemed to not get on very well to those who didn’t know them, his chosen profession worked out even better, and Meredith was more likely to grant him leave to spend an afternoon, or a day or two, at the Hawke estate. 

So the increasingly frequent visits by Carver were somewhat of a joy for her, even if they _did_ bicker like the aforementioned siblings, and it felt like her family was being patched back together.  It was also easier to mourn Mother when he was there; it felt less hollow, in her heart, and she felt less alone, all together. It was somewhat, but not entirely, like their lives back in Lothering.  Carver out, trying to become his own person, and Hawke in the house, watching Bethany, practicing and learning about magic, and doing the household chores with Mother.  If she could pretend Mother were still there.  Or if she could pretend that she was filling in Mother’s role.

It was a night like so many had been, working towards Bethy’s sixth month, when Carver came over for dinner.  He and Fenris poked at each other so much that Fenris took his leave to his mansion, and Hawke had to listen to Carver go on about her “pet elf” until she wanted to smack him upside the back of the head.  Bethy was especially fussy, probably because of the arguing that was going on, and so Hawke bade Carver a good night relatively early and brought Bethy upstairs for their bedtime routine.

First was the warm bath, which the two of them shared.  Bethy was especially beginning to enjoy splashing around in the water, making loud shrieks of laughter when she did so, and since she could sit up relatively well on her own, it was even more fun.  After the bath, Hawke dried them both off and dressed them both in relatively light linen nightgowns; the middle of summer was no time to be wearing thick wool, especially, and since Fenris was not sleeping over that night, Hawke had a mind to place a couple of pillows on the bed where he normally lay and let Bethy sleep between herself and the pillows.  After nursing, the two of them fell asleep relatively quickly, with Hero sleeping on the floor at the foot of the bed, his usual favorite place to slumber.

She awoke to the sound of Bethy’s harsh screaming, and the feel of an unfamiliar hand clapped over her mouth.  A bolt of panic ran through her: Templars! She reached for her mana, reached for the fade, and found it easily, let it pour into her.  She clenched her eyes shut and flexed her hand, wiggling away from whomever it was who was trying to hold onto her, and summoned a telekenetic burst, which flung the unsuspecting person away.  It was dark, the fire having long gone out, and she flicked her fingers; a globe of blue-white light suddenly hovered right above the canopy.  She could hear Hero barking and tearing into someone and vaguely wondered why he didn’t wake as soon as they dared come into her home.  But her main thought was for Bethy, and she saw a dwarf dressed in the usual Carta regalia holding her daughter.  His eyes looked odd, from what she could tell, but she took only the scant moment to identify where Bethy was.  Flinging out her hand, she summed ice and froze the dwarf where he was standing, lunging forward and off the bed in time to catch Bethy at an awkward angle.

Hero had, in the meantime, hamstrung a third dwarf, and the one who had attacked her originally was getting to his feet again.  Hawke left Bethy in the middle of the bed and gathered her willpower to crush the man where he was standing, pulling her fingers in to make a fist as she did so.  The second dwarf had begun to unfreeze, and so Hawke grabbed up Bethy and nearly stumbled off the bed, desperate to reach her staff, which would augment her power.  She screamed for Bodahn, knowing the dwarf was a good man in a pinch, and, if nothing else, could run to Fenris’s mansion and bring him there to her estate.  She would need him no matter how the night ended.

“Blood of the Hawke,” the dwarf being crushed said, as he fell to his knees when the spell wore off.  She managed to blink and start, but was backing away and tripping over her nightgown.  Hero had the same dwarf he had been working on down on the ground and was tearing out his throat; blood and gore covered her carpet, and Hero was growling in between rips, viciously tearing into the man who dared attack his mistress.  In her arms, Bethy was howling, gasping for air and screaming, and for an instant Hawke did not know what to do.

“Messere!” Bodahn shouted, from the hallway.  Hawke half-turned, her mind racing, and he ran up to her, holding out one of her staves.  “Give me Bethy,” he panted, and so she did, blinking owlishly in confusion for a moment before the first dwarf, the one that had originally grabbed for her, reached her and stabbed forward with a dagger.  Hawke yelped at the dagger cut into her leg and flung the staff out, hitting the dwarf in the head with it as she lost her balance.

“Get Fenris!” she shouted back at Bodahn, and then righted herself and swung the staff again, the sharp blade of it slicing its own cut against the dwarf’s face.  He howled and reached for the bleeding gash, and Hawke took that moment to spread her fingers out and lean forward, turning the water in the air to ice quickly.  It caught First Dwarf and Second Dwarf, and Hero lunged at Second, having sufficiently destroyed Third Dwarf enough that he would be no further bother to anyone.  She didn’t bother to look and see if Bodahn had done as she ordered, instead focusing her attention back on First Dwarf.  She raised her hand high, gripping her staff in her other hand, and then brought it down sharply in a fist, and the dwarf was knocked to the floor; his audible gasp for air rang through the room, even above the growls of Hero and the sounds of tearing flesh.  Hawke’s fist opened and her wrist twisted again, and First Dwarf spasmed as gathered electricity shot through him; he fell to the floor, dead, and Hawke held onto her staff and gasped for air.  Her nightgown, once a shade of blue, was splattered with blood all over and her hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions.  Hero’s muzzle was covered with blood as well, and his kaddis was smeared, but he took down Second Dwarf, thanks to Hawke’s incapacitating him, grabbing the dwarf by the throat and shaking him like he was vermin.

“That’s enough, boy,” Hawke said, wearily, and sank down to her knees.  Hero gave the dwarf a final shake, then trotted over to her and pushed his bloody muzzle up against her face, sniffing her to make sure she was okay.  Hawke sputtered slightly and pushed him away, taking a moment to run a Healing spell through her before charging out of her room, giving Hero a low hand signal so that he would follow and be on alert.

“Bodahn!” she called, and her voice echoed through the house.  “Sandal!  Orana!”  There was no answer immediately, but after she got downstairs she heard the tell-tale sound of Orana crying, and Hawke ran to her bedchamber, terrified that she was hurt.

The door was ripped off the hinges and Sandal was in the room with her, kneeling down and pressing his hands against Orana’s head.  He looked up at Hawke, solemnly, and shook his head.  “Not enchantment,” he said, and Hawke set her mouth in a grim line.

“Not enchantment,” she agreed.  “Orana, are you hurt?”

“No, Mistress,” the elven girl said, although she was shaking and holding on to Sandal as if she were terrified the boy would leave her.

“Let me examine you, anyway,” she told her, and knelt beside her.  Hero stayed in the doorway while Hawke summoned her mana again and did a quick Delving, nodding to herself, satisfied, when no injuries presented themselves.  “Sandal?  Are you hurt?”

“Enchantment,” Sandal said, gravely, and Hawke put her hands on either side of his head to check, anyway.  Again, no injuries were found, but both of them were obviously frightened.

“Orana, can you tell me what happened?”

“I…. I was sleeping, Mistress.  And then someone broke the door down.  They shouted… About the Hawke?  And blood?  But I was sleeping, and I didn’t really catch what they said.”

“Hawke blood,” Sandal agreed, and made an angry face.  Hawke pursed her lips and her brows knitted together.

“Someone wants my blood, do they?  Let them try to take it.”  She pushed herself to her feet using her staff.  “Hero, stay and protect Orana and Sandal.  You two stay here.  I will check out the rest of the house and make sure it’s safe.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Orana said, her voice quivering.

The first place Hawke went to look was the door to the cellar; it appeared to be whole and locked, still, which relieved her some.  That meant that Anders was probably secure, and that the secret entrance there in Darktown was probably still secret and safe; both of those things were important, but especially the secret entrance.  Then she went to the front door, which was broken down and splintered.  Hawke frowned sharply and wondered how it was those men got into her house without her hearing, especially if it involved shattering doors down?  She strained her ears to listen for Bodahn, or to hear any sign of Bethy, but all she could hear were the nighttime sounds of Hightown intruding into her home.  The clock struck, suddenly, three times; three in the morning, then.  She bit her bottom lip and hung onto the doorframe, peering out into the darkness and hoping to catch a glimpse of Bodahn or Fenris, hoping even more that Bethy was there.  If Bethy was gone…  A tear rolled down her cheek and she suppressed a sob, fisting her hand into her bloody nightgown.

It was no use to just wait there, she decided, for waiting would only give her time to think and fret, so she went to the back door of the estate and found it, too, broken down.  Three men did all that?  Silently?  She shook her head.  Later in the day, she would see to new, better doors.  How did none of her neighbors hear the commotion?  How did she not?

“Hawke!” Fenris shouted, and she started, half-turning before she remembered to grab her staff and bring it with her.  She trotted, quickly, on bare feet, back to the front of the house.

“Fenris!”  Her voice was half a sob.

“Marian,” he replied, sounding relieved, and when she caught sight of him, he had Bethy safe in his arms.  She could not stop the tears, then, falling to her knees, and Fenris knelt right beside her, hugging her and Bethy to him tightly enough that the infant started fussing and crying, grabbing at Hawke’s hair and whimpering.

“I… three.  Dead, in my room,” she told him.  “They had Bethy.”

“And there are no more?”  She shook her head and leaned into him.  Bodahn came in a moment later, panting and puffing with the exertion. 

“Messere,” he began.  “I heard them breaking down the door to Orana’s room, but I didn’t hear the front door.”

“Neither did I.  Apparently, no one did.”  She wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands and sniffled, trying to calm herself.  “It is not your fault, Bodahn, so do not blame yourself.  We’re all okay.  I checked on Sandal and Orana as well.”

“Bodahn, I want you to go get Varric.  Right now, man,” Fenris said, sharply, and buried his face in Hawke’s hair.  Hawke took Bethy from him, gently, and pressed a kiss to her tear-dampened cheeks, breathing in her baby smell.  Her heart had been pounding since she woke up and it only now started to settle.

“Messere Fenris, it’s not safe for me to go to Lowtown this time of night,” Bodahn said.  That was exactly what Fenris did not want to hear, and he turned, slightly, already growling a reply. 

Hawke shook her head and grasped his upper arm tightly.  “No, Fenris, he’s right.  It’s not safe for you or me to go to Lowtown this time of night, why would it be safe for him to go alone?”

“Varric will know who did this,” Fenris said, sounding desperate.

“Varric won’t be able to do anything right now, though,” she said.  “You and I would have to go together, and I’m not leaving Bethy behind right now.  I’m not sure I’m going to be able to go back to sleep any time soon, though,” she said, laughing weakly.  “But, we can at least try to get Bethy back to sleep.  We can stay in one of the guest rooms.  Or Orana can.  Or something, I don’t know.”  She shook her head and rested her face in the crook of his neck, and he held her against him even tighter.  “I’m sorry,” she said, her sobs turning into hiccups.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“ _I_ am sorry,” he told her, earnestly.  “I should have been here.  I should not have let Carver get to me.”

“Messere?” Bodahn asked, as if afraid to intrude.

“It’s fine, Bodahn,” she told him, and managed to get to her feet, still holding Bethy secure.  For her part, the infant seemed to be much calmer, now that both her mother and father were there and no strangers were grabbing her.  “Although I’m not sure you’ll be able to get much rest, either.”

“I can have Orana make some tea,” he offered.

“That is an excellent idea,” she replied, hefting Bethy from one arm to the other.  “I’m going to change her, and then I’m going to nurse her.  Fenris, I went over the house fairly well, but I’d like you to go over it again, if you would.”

“Is the abomination here?” he asked.

“ _Anders_ is not here, as far as I know,” she said.

“A pity.  He is useless in most things, but I do not doubt that he would be well in helping keep the house secure until the doors and locks can be replaced.”  She did blink at that; it was a rarity that Fenris gave Anders any sort of compliment, and one such as this was not to be ignored.

“We’ll be fine,” she said, patting him on one armor-spiked shoulder.  “My mana has already replenished.  But someone probably should go get the guard.  I don’t know if Aveline is only duty tonight or not, but I can’t be having with three dead dwarves in my bedroom.”

“Dwarves?  Is it the Carta, then?”

“I don’t know,” Hawke said, heading up the stairs to the nursery.  “But we’re going to find out.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to write short-ish chapters anymore. I'm not sure why that is. Again, I couldn't find a good place to break this into two chapters, so please enjoy.


	15. Why Are the Carta After You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris find out that the (apparent) Carta attacked Carver, too, and they all decide what they want to do about it.

“Why are the Carta after you?”  Fenris asked, the next full day later.  It was a question he had asked several times already, and a question that she had no way of answering. Hawke took a long drink from her teacup, and Bethy, sitting on the floor and babbling incoherently at the teddy bear Sebastian had given her, took a moment to look at her father, eyes large and blue-green.

Hawke simply shook her head and set the teacup down on the saucer, sitting back and folding her hands over her stomach.  Isabela was shuffling the papers at her desk, obviously snooping for something interesting, and Varric was sitting in the over-stuffed chair that Fenris usually favored.

“It’s really strange,” Varric said.  “I haven’t been able to find out anything.  Usually, the Carta doesn’t go after someone unless they’re encroaching on territory, but as far as I can tell, Hawke is well thought of even by them.  She’s done a lot of favors for a lot of people, Carta and Coterie included.”

“Maybe they just all went insane,” Isabela suggested, suddenly bored with the papers on the desk in front of her. 

“They kept talking about the ‘blood of the Hawke,’” Hawke said, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully.  On the floor, Bethy took hold of her teddy bear and introduced it suddenly and rapidly to the carpet.  “Were they talking about me, or about Bethy?”

“Or were they talking about me?” Carver asked, from the library doorway.  All heads turned to him, even Bethy’s, and the infant let out a cooing shriek of happiness at seeing her uncle.  Carver grinned at her and waved, and Bethy attempted to imitate it, but only succeeded in falling forward.  She landed poorly and started fussing, and Hawke set her back upright.

“Why would they be talking about you?  It was me they attacked,” Hawke told him, over her shoulder.  Fenris took the opportunity to glare at him.

“They attacked me, too,” Carver said, irritated, and flopped into the unoccupied chair.

“What, in the Gallows?”  Hawke was shocked.

“A half dozen Carta dwarves,” Carver said, nodding.  “Thought they could take me there, I guess.  They were proven wrong, but not until they were heard chanting that ‘blood of the Hawke’ nonsense.”

“So, Hawke, little Hawke, and the littlest Hawke,” Varric said, musingly, rubbing his chin slightly.  “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Whatever it is,” Hawke told him, “we must take the fight to them.”

“I’ll do whatever looking up I can,” Varric promised.  “But if you take the fight to them, what are you going to do about Bethy?”  He glanced down where the baby was chewing the teddy bear with her gummy smile.

“I… suppose that bringing her along will not be an option,” Hawke replied, with a sigh.  “It’s probably going to be dangerous, and we can’t be having with all that and a baby, too.  I can only hope that Orana can watch her.”

“Maybe it’s time to hire that wet nurse,” Isabela suggested, leaning on the sofa between Hawke and Fenris and showing off her assets to her best ability.  “Or a nanny.  You’re rich, you can afford it.”

“That’s hardly the point— “

“Hawke,” Varric said, slowly and quietly.  “If you go off and do this, you can’t know how long you’re going to be gone for, and your milk will probably wind up drying up.  Painfully, if our little trip to the Coast proved anything.  I’m not saying you should stay here, but it’s something you should consider.”

“Flames,” Hawke cursed, chewing on a knuckle and staring into space.

“I will go,” Fenris told her.  “You stay here, with Bethy.  I will track these people down and kill them, for daring to attack you.”

“It’s not like he’d be alone,” Carver said.  “The Templars would let me leave to investigate this, and I’m sure we can get some others to go along with us.  Wherever we’d be going, of course.”

“This is something I’d have no choice but to look into,” Hawke told them all, frowning.  “I couldn’t depend on someone else to go in my place, and you all know that.”

“We don’t even know where we’d be going to,” Varric put in.  “It could just be around the block, you know.  In a case like that… Well, it wouldn’t be that much of a problem.”

“Since when have we ever been that lucky?” Hawke chuckled, dryly. 

Varric shook his head.  “First we need to find out where we’re going and who we’re up against.  Other than Carta, that is.  And then we’ll be able to plan things better.”

“I’m going, whether or not you are, sister,” Carver said.  “I think you should stay here, too.”  Bethy took that opportunity to make a loud raspberry sound, drawing every eye.  Hawke felt that small niggling guilt begin in her stomach.  If she were to leave Bethy… If she were…

“Nothing’s getting decided today,” she said, firmly, not taking her eyes off the infant.  She could sense movement in her peripheral vision, telling her that the others were looking at her, but she could not take her eyes off her daughter.  “Nothing’s getting decided until we find out who those bastards are working for and where they’re working out of.”

“And on that note,” Varric declared, standing from his chair, “I’d better get back to The Hanged Man, just in case somebody’s stopped by with any new information.”

“I’ll head back with you,” Isabela said.  “But you all know where to find me if you need anything.”

“If possible,” Hawke told both of them, “I’d like to have someplace else to sleep tonight.  Someplace that _isn’t_ Fenris’s mansion,” she finished, with a roll of her eyes.  “Bethy will need to sleep there, and that’s no place for an infant.”

“I do not disagree,” Fenris said, after a significant pause.  His shoulders seemed to relax a little bit from their suddenly tense position.  “Varric, if you could find someplace for us to stay; a nicer inn, perhaps?”

“Us?” Hawke said, quietly, with her brows raised.  She smirked just slightly when Fenris turned back to her, a questioning look on his face.  “I just didn’t realize you’d be staying, too.”

“She is my daughter,” he protested, holding out a hand to her.  “And you are… You are Hawke.”  She could see the knowing grins widen on the faces of the three other adults, even Carver’s. 

“Fenris has a good idea, though, Varric.  Book us under your name, at one of the nicer inns, and let me know how much it’ll be.  I’ll meet you at The Hanged Man about an hour before dark and we’ll head on there.  Does that sound good?”

“You’re getting to be just slightly devious for a mage,” Varric replied, pleased.  “I’ll see you then, Hawke.”  He bent down and chucked Bethy under the chin gently and made a silly face at her before heading out, Isabela following suit.

“I’m glad you and Bethy are okay, sister,” Carver said, earnestly, and once the other two had left.  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, brows drawing down in concern.  “If you two were gone… I’m just glad you’re okay,” he finished, lamely, and then turned his gaze to Fenris.  “And where were you, elf?  I thought you were supposed to be in love with her, or whatever.  Why weren’t you here, protecting them?”

Fenris stood abruptly and strode across the library to stand in front of the fire.  His hands were obviously fisted and his entire stance screamed “angry!” to Hawke.  She shot Carver a withering look that the man returned with interest. 

“Do you have nothing to say?”

Fenris turned slightly, enough to be heard clearly.  “I have failed them both, is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No, I _want_ to hear that you’re going to make this right and not put them in a position where it can happen again!”

“Carver…”

“No, Marian.  This is important.  If he had been there, they might not have gotten as close as they did.  They may have counted two bodies in that bed and decided to back off.”

“They may have waited until the time was right and came back and took Bethy while the two of us were out on a job,” Hawke shot back.  At her name, Bethy looked up at her mother and gummed a smile, which caused Hawke’s eyes to suddenly shine with hot tears.

“You’ve got to quit these jobs, Marian,” Carver said.  “You’ve got your position and you’ve got your income.  You’ve got me in the Templars, keeping an eye out for you.  If your pet elf will ever get himself together and decide to stop moping around and man up for a change, you’d have some sort of husband.  You wouldn’t need to be running around at night killing people, or looting your way up the Wounded Coast.”

“That is enough, Carver,” Hawke said, voice cold as ice.  “The jobs I take or my relationship with Fenris are none of your business.”

“Bullshit, they’re not.  You’re my sister, and Bethy is my niece.  You’re my last living kin, if you don’t count Gamlen.  And I don’t, by the way,” he added, his tone dry. 

Fenris turned away from the low fire and stalked back to where they were sitting.  “As long as Danarius lives, I am a slave,” he told Carver, simply.  “And as long as I am a slave and someone else’s legal property, I cannot be to Marian what she wants.”

“Good enough to get a child on her, but not good enough to make a proper wife, is that how it is?”

“You do not know—“

“I know plenty,” Carver replied, standing and facing Fenris.  “I know plenty, and if I had a woman half as fine as my sister who had my child, slave or not, I’d be asking for her hand, or trying to make some sort of permanent relationship.  And from what was going on back in Grunding, you’ve still got feelings for her.  Maker’s light, just from watching you around her for five minutes, a blind man can tell you’re in love with her.  So it’s only your own cowardice keeping you from her.  And now, with assholes trying to kidnap or kill the three of us?  If nothing else, you’d think you’d want to be around more for Bethy’s sake.”

“Carver, that’s it,” Hawke said, and it was her turn to stand and get between the two men.  “You go find Orana and see if she’s got anything made for you to eat.”  When Carver seemed ready to protest, Hawke near enough stamped her foot.  “Carver,” she said, tone warning.  Carver finally sighed and shook his head, throwing his hands up and stalked out of the room, muttering too low for her to hear but assuredly rude things regarding her, or Fenris, or both.

She turned to Fenris, who was standing there, slightly hunched, as if his sword were still on his back, his head ducked down and the fine silvery-white hairs falling into his face.  “None of that,” she told him, and reached for his chin to tilt it up.  “You ignore Carver, the selfish shit.”

“He is right, however.  On many counts,” Fenris said, but he did not pull away from Hawke.  “I am a coward, or else I would not have walked out on you that first night.”

“I’m not going to pretend that I fully understand why you did it, Fenris, because it makes as much sense that you would have at least explained to me what was going on and let us work through it as for me to be able to show up less than a week later and you be willing to come back out with me on jobs.  But that’s in the past.  That’s long in the past, Fenris, and now we’ve got this to worry about.  I’m here for you, and you’re here for me,” she said, and tapped where the red ribbon was tied around his wrist.  “Or has that changed?”

“It has not,” he acknowledged, and then grasped her wrists near tight enough to leave bruises.  “I… I am _yours_ , Hawke, but…”

“Don’t ‘but’ me no buts, Fenris,” Hawke said, twisting her wrists so that she was holding his hands.  He sighed and looked down again, but accepted the touch without flinching.  She squeezed his hand slightly and was rewarded with a gentle squeeze of his own.  “I understand the rest of it.  And Carver puts too much value on my ‘wedded worth,’ anyway.  I think it’s probably his job as a brother.”  She squeezed his hands again, softly, before dropping them.  “So don’t rise to his bait.  You’re a free man and you’re free to make your own choices.  And I’m a free woman free to make my own choices as well.”

“Your brother is a tit,” Fenris said, voice soft, and Hawke grinned at him broadly. 

“Aveline said the same thing!”  They shared a soft laugh and Fenris abruptly stepped towards her and slid his arms around her waist in a light embrace.  She rested her head against his shoulder.  “It’ll be okay, Fenris,” she assured him, arms snaking around his own waist.  On the floor, Bethy banged the teddy bear against the carpet and fell over again, and Hawke sighed fondly and picked her up, smooshing her in a hug shared with her father.

Bethy squirmed in her arms, protesting being taken away from her play, and Hawke transferred her over to Fenris, who took her with a silly expression, his face lighting up like only Bethy could bring out in him.  “Now,” she said, straightening her dress, “I am going to find Carver and try to calm _him_ down before he throws a pity party in my home.”

“And Varric says that _I_ brood,” Fenris replied, good-naturedly.  He held Bethy up and rubbed his face against her stomach, causing the infant to squirm and giggle, and Hawke couldn’t resist the indulgent smile from seeing the two of them together. 

Carver was in the kitchen, and he had apparently been talking Orana out of various and sundry baked goods, because he was sitting at a low table –in truth, much too low for him, as his legs were sticking up at a rather funny angle, giant that he was—and he had a plate in front of him that was piled with a piece of pie, a piece of cake, and several cookies, along with a glass of what was, probably, goat’s milk.  Orana had gone on quite the baking binge over the last two days, possibly, Hawke suspected, as a way of normalizing the traumatic events.  Hawke took the chair across from him and snuck a cookie, which earned her a huffed, irritated noise from Carver.

“Carver,” she began, giving him a level look before biting into the cookie.

“And now you’re going to lecture me about being nice to your pet elf,” Carver said, tone bored, fork halfway to his mouth and piled with pie.

Hawke contemplated as she chewed the cookie.  Carver was an ass, most of the time, thinking he had something to prove and wanted to live outside of his sister’s shadow, cursing the shade without realizing all he had to do was take one step to either side.  She also firmly objected to his referring to Fenris as her “pet elf,” because the idea was offensive on a number of levels, the least of which was the idea that Fenris was anything but a free man (despite him, perhaps, still thinking of himself as a slave.)  Perhaps deferring to Carver, in a certain respect, would prevent problems in the near future?

“Carver,” she said, again, but he interrupted her.

“I meant what I said, Marian.  He should step up and do the right thing, or back off so you can find a husband.  You’re just one woman and you need a man to look after you, even if you won’t admit it.”  Hawke bristled at that, sharply, and gritted her back teeth.  “And besides that, he should have been here the other night.  Even if it isn’t for you, he should be here for Bethy.  I know having her hasn’t been the easiest thing for you, and you’re still feeding her at night, but Maker’s breath, the man could step up a little bit, since he doesn’t seem to have anything better to do than follow you around.”

“Carver,” she started, and he let her go on this time.  “Carver, I agree with you on points.  But you should let my relationship with Fenris, whatever it is, be between the two of us.  Calling him names and forcing him into something he doesn’t want or isn’t ready for isn’t going to help things.”

“He got a child on you, Marian!  It doesn’t matter if he wasn’t ready for it, he was ready enough to stick his—“

“ _Carver_ ,” she said, her tone a low hissing warning, and she jerked her head in Orana’s direction.  For her part, the maid seemed to be turning ten shades of red and was obviously trying to grow something to cover up her ears so she wouldn’t hear.

“Right, sorry,” Carver mumbled, and finished the bite of his pie.  “But you need him here, especially if people are going to be coming after you two,” he said, between chews.  _Blessed Carver and his table manners_ , she thought to herself.

“I will try to talk him into staying here more, if you try to be nicer to him.”  When Carver started to object, Hawke held up her hand to forestall him.  “No, Carver.  I’m not asking you to be friends with him, I’m just asking you to not insult him or antagonize him.  Especially right now.  There’s no reason to make him feel even more guilty than he does that he wasn’t here.  Trust me, he feels guilty enough.  And you share some of that blame!” she said, bringing her hand down flat onto the table with a loud “thwack!” sound.  “You two just had to go and argue, which made him leave.  If you hadn’t have argued with him, he probably would have stayed here that night and then we would be dealing with just some potential burglars.”

“It’s not my fault he got ran off with a few mean words,” Carver said.  Hawke shook her head and finished up her cookie, brushing the crumbs off her bosom.

“Carver, just… just do as I’ve asked. For my sake.  For _Bethy’s_ sake.  Please?”

“And if I’m nicer to him, you’ll make sure he stays around more?  He’s good with a sword.  Better than you.  If someone got magebane after you…”

She shivered slightly.  If those dwarves had known enough to be carrying magebane poison on their knives, the one that stabbed her could have taken off with Bethy, or both of them, or whatever their plan was.  “I’ll make sure,” she agreed.  He simply nodded his head, shoving another large forkful of pie into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. 

“And when we go hunt these bastards down,” he finally said, after swallowing, “I want to be there.  You know how to get in touch with me.  You take me with you, or I’ll get leave to stay with you until we end this.  And if I stay with you, I’m following you everywhere but the privy.”

“Thank the Maker for small blessings,” Hawke mumbled to herself.  She rolled her eyes slightly and grimaced.  “Yes, Carver, I will bring you with me.  I promise.  Wherever ‘it’ happens to be.  Hopefully it’s not near the docks, or else we’ll have to listen to Fenris go on about the smell of fish some more.”  She snagged another cookie and grimaced again.  “I _like_ fish, and now we can’t have it for fear of keeping Fenris away.  And if I don’t feed him, Maker knows where he’ll get food from.  Cooking is not his forte.”

“I haven’t found much that is,” Carver grumbled, eyeing the cookie she snagged with displeasure.  Hawke took great pleasure in taking a slow, languorous bite out of the cookie, which caused Carver to scowl at her fiercely.

“He’s good at plenty.  You’ve just always been too dense to see it,” Hawke told him, smirking slightly.

“I don’t think I want to know what else he’s good at,” Carver grumbled, and Hawke took the chance to finish up her cookie and stand up again, hands on hips, giving Carver a stern look.

“Remember our agreement, brother.  You treat him like he’s a member of the family that you actually _like_ and not like he’s an extension of me.  Treat him like you want to be treated.  Treat him like he’s Merrill, except you don’t lust after him.”

“I don’t!” Carver replied, his tone nearly scandalized, which caused Hawke to laugh all the more.  Even Orana managed a scandalized chuckle, and Hawke caught the tips of her ears turning red.

“Do, don’t, whatever.  Just be nice, and I’ll make sure he plays nice, too, and I’ll _also_ make sure he stays around.”

“Just don’t let him get another baby on you,” Carver told her, interest seemingly back on his pie.  “I don’t want to be an uncle again anytime soon.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about in that department,” she promised him, then patted Carver on the shoulder in a very older-sister-affectionately manner before heading back into the library, looking for Fenris and Bethy.

He was on the floor with her, holding out the teddy bear and waiting for her to grab it before pulling it away slowly, causing Bethy to have to stretch and reach for it more and more.  Bethy either thought it was the best game in the world or the worst game in the world, depending on the kinds of sounds she was making. 

Hawke flopped into the chair that Carver had vacated and put her feet up on the little table in front of it.  Fenris turned and gave her his little half-smile that she loved so much, the one that told her that he was happy to see her but afraid of putting the happiness into words lest they run away.

“I’ve talked to Carver and he should behave.  But I’ll need you to promise to stay with me until this is over with,” she told him.

“I would stay with you anyway, Marian, you know that.  I should have been here and not let Carver drive me off, simply because he wished to be petulant,” Fenris replied, his attention back on their daughter. 

“He also said to not let you get another baby on me,” she told him, grinning.  Fenris sat up very straight and was flushed red to the tips of his ears.

“That… I would not…”

“Oh, don’t say you wouldn’t,” she teased.  “My bed would be poorer for it.”

“You know what I mean,” Fenris said, voice soft.  “You should not mock me so.”

“That’s not mocking.  You’ve heard me talk to Carver.  _That_ is mocking.”

“Even so,” Fenris said.

“Even so,” Hawke replied.  “You’re still welcome in my bed, and you know it.”

“You are tired,” Fenris hedged.  “And still nursing Bethy.  You have not shown much interest, since we returned to Kirkwall.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said, lacing her fingers over her stomach.  It was still larger than it had been before her pregnancy, and she suspected the little pooch she had there would not go away, no matter how long it had been since she had had Bethy.  “But I could probably be talked into it.”

He ducked his head down again, and, if anything, blushed all the fiercer. 

Hawke chuckled.  “Maybe tonight?  It’s said that familiarity breeds contempt, so perhaps you are too overly-familiar with my bedchamber?”

“Am I to accompany you, then?”

“And now _you_ mock _me_ ,” she accused him.  “Especially since you were the one who said we were going to stay there together.”

“Sometimes a man wishes to know where he stands,” Fenris told her, archly.

“You’ve never got to wonder that.  You’re always welcome to stand right beside me,” Hawke replied, directing a warm smile in his direction.

“Good to know,” Fenris said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more normal-length chapter! Yay! I *do* have it in me!


	16. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of waiting, a little bit of arguing. Hawke makes plans and Fenris broods, more or less. They find out where the Carta dwarves are coming from and hard decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, transition chapters. Not much action in this one, but things get done and plans get made.

“You,” Hawke huffed, breathing heavy, “are getting so big, my Bethy.”  In the sling that Hawke had strapped against her, Bethy cooed and laughed, then started gnawing on her fist as she gazed up at her mother.  Hawke made sure to support her using her left arm, leaving the right free for casting, if need be.  Fenris was striding beside her, carrying both his huge greatsword and her staff, as well as a large bag that Hawke swore was full of things that both she and Bethy would need _just to get through a single night_ at the inn. 

They were headed for The Hanged Man, and, loathe as she was to introduce Bethy to such an establishment at a young age, she was even more loathe to leave her behind at the estate.  Not that she doubted Orana, Bodahn, or Sandal, but rather because fear was a strong driver of motivations and Hawke felt it was better to be safe than sorry.  Besides, if Fenris wasn’t objecting, she was fairly certain she was going along the right path.

“I would carry her— “ Fenris began.

“No, we already talked about that,” she interrupted, with a shake of her head.  Indeed, they had talked about it at length, and Hawke’s point still stood: they were going to be out in public, however brief, and, for the time being, Fenris couldn’t be seen to care too much about Bethy.  It had led to a small argument where she carefully _reminded_ him that any time he wished to formalize any sort of relationship, he was welcome to, but until that time came he was simply the Champion’s lover (or whatever, she conceded, to herself) and suspicion must not fall onto them about Bethy being her biological daughter.

No response from Fenris save an irritated huff of breath and a shifting of the burdens he was bearing. 

Their arrival at The Hanged Man was met with the general jocularity that was expected from the crowd there this early in the evening; indeed, the sun was still shining, and while the usual drunks were lying about and drinking their sorrows away, most of the tavern itself was empty.  Hawke waved a hand at Corff, who raised the tankard he had been pretending to dry off in return, and she lead the way upstairs to Varric’s “palatial suite” with Fenris following close behind.  A quick knock on the door was met by a call for them to come in, and so she led the way further into Varric’s room.

“Good thing you’re here,” Varric said, not quite looking up from a small stack of papers in front of him on the long table that dominated the sitting area.  “I’m looking over a few reports.  Not all my people can read, but they can all steal, and it looks like it’s just the Carta after you, with no backing.”

“Just the Carta?” she asked, surprised, and sat down in the empty chair beside Varric’s.  Fenris, meanwhile, deposited the things right inside the door.

“Just the Carta,” Varric confirmed, sounding worried.  “So do you have any idea why they’d be after you?”

“None at all,” she confessed, brows knitting in a worried frown.  “None of the jobs I’ve gone on, or that you all’ve gone on in my stead, have even been for the Carta, or working against them, as far as I can tell.”

“Mostly bandit jobs,” Fenris added, taking the seat beside her and stretching his legs out in front of him, wiggling his toes.

“Right,” Varric said.  “That’s what I thought.  So it’s even more strange… And these Carta don’t seem to be working with the larger group that I’d expect.  So now I just need to find their base of operations.”  He glanced towards Hawke once, and she could see the worry in his rich brown eyes.  “Looks like it’s not anywhere near Kirkwall, though.”

“Even if I can’t bring Bethy, I probably still need to be there,” Hawke said, firmly.  “If we take the fight to them, wherever they happen to be, then I’m fairly certain they’d leave Bethy alone while Carver and I have them so occupied.”

“Not just you and Carver,” Fenris said, voice a low growl.

“No, not just me and Carver,” Hawke sniped, wrinkling her nose at him. 

“Just so long as you remember that.”

“Yes, Father,” she said, with a long-suffering sigh.  “Now, if we can continue?”  Fenris grunted slightly and made a slight gesture, offering to take Bethy from her, to which she acceded with grace.  “You got us a room, I trust?” she asked Varric, while handing Bethy over.

“At the Stag and Lion,” Varric agreed. 

“Excellent,” Hawke said, tapping her fingers on the table.  “Hopefully they won’t be able to find us there.  I realize we’ve not used much in the way of subterfuge, but they don’t seem to be much in the way of attacking us, either.”

“I don’t think we’re going to need to worry too much,” Varric told her, flipping through the small stack and then handing one of the reports over.  Hawke scanned it quickly; the gist of the report was that these particular Carta members seemed to not be working with all their facilities, almost as if there was something wrong.

“Could it be blood magic?” she asked, worried.  “Does blood magic even affect dwarves?”

“It can, and it could be,” Varric said. 

“Blood magic,” Fenris growled, sitting Bethy on his lap.  “But you said there seemed to be no one behind this.  Dwarves can’t actually _do_ magic.”

“You’ve got me there.  Either there’s someone else behind this, or it’s not blood magic.”

“But what else could it be?  Especially since they were talking about the ‘blood of the Hawke.’ That sort of implies blood magic, don’t you think?” Hawke asked.

“We’ll just have to wait for more reports,” Varric told her.  “I’ve got my people on this, Hawke, so don’t worry.  We’ll get the bastards and we’ll take them out.”

A knock sounded at the door, Isabela’s familiar rapping, and Varric called for her to come in.  She did so, giving them each a stern look as she flounced in.

“Really, sweet things, no more security than that?”  She arched a brow and cocked her hip, placing her hand there.  “I could have been anyone.”

“You weren’t,” Fenris said. 

“But I could have been,” she pressed, dropping the pose and flopping down bonelessly into a chair opposite from Hawke’s.  “Which is why I’m going to be staying with you in your lovely suite at the inn tonight.”

“And we get no say in this?” Hawke asked.  She thought it was a brilliant idea, actually, but argued for argument sake.

“Are you planning on having sex?” Isabela countered, with a grin.  “Because if you are, you get absolutely no say in it.  If you aren’t, then you just get no say.”

A glance at Fenris proved that his ears were reddened, a sure sign that _he_ might have been planning something to that effect.  Hawke cleared her throat and patted him on the knee, which earned her a baleful glare and then an apologetic look.  Apologetic for the glare? 

“If we have no choice, then we have no choice.  There are worse things than having you around, although I’m afraid you’ll have to limit the drinking,” Hawke said to Isabela.

“Perish the thought,” Isabela said loftily.  “I do my best work when I’m drunk, Hawke, and you damn well know it.”

“Just for tonight, ‘Bela,” she sighed, and Isabela joined her in a sigh much more mournful.

“If you insist,” she grumbled.

“Now, are we going to check this inn out, or what?” Varric said, rising and grabbing for Bianca, strapping her to his back.

Hawke’s stomach gave a nearly embarrassing rumble.  “Let’s get to it, then,” she said. “I’m ready to grab something to eat.”

“You’re always ready to eat,” Fenris told her, as he handed Bethy back to her.  Hawke settled her in the sling, re-wrapping it so it was snug and tight. 

“I’m skin and bones, Fenris.  Skin and bones.”

“You’re both too skinny by half,” Isabela told them, winking. 

“It’s not my fault.  I’m running around half of Kirkwall and constantly killing people.”

“At least your breasts have stayed large,” Isabela noted, and Hawke through her a mock-irritated look, which ‘Bela chose to ignore.

Varric led the way out of the room and Fenris followed, and then Hawke.  Over his shoulder, Fenris said to her, voice too low to carry far, “I do like your breasts.”  Hawke gaped at him for a moment and then lightly punched him in the shoulder, which Fenris chose to ignore.  ‘Bela must have heard it because she gave a throaty chuckle and followed Hawke out of the room.

The Stag and Lion was one of the more upscale inns in Kirkwall, catering to visiting nobles of lower ranks, wealthy merchants, and the like.  Varric, being the highest-ranking member of House Tethras and having the “official” seat of Tethras on the Merchant’s Guild, had no problems getting a suite booked for the night, as well as some of the finer meals that Master Barlon served.  He led them up to their room, which included a sitting room, a bedchamber with a large, plush-looking bed, and a separate garderrobe with included a large copper tub and a variety of bath implements that Hawke decided she was going to partake of as soon as she was able.  But after dinner.  Certainly after dinner.

Unfortunately, _her_ dinner had to wait, as Bethy took that opportunity to decide she wanted her own.  She had started acting hungrier around smells of food, and Hawke had been told numerous times that it meant she was getting ready to start on mushed gruel and mushed peas, but she wasn’t exactly ready to start that yet, so she catered to Bethy’s whimpering and cries, settling down on the bed with her and nursing the infant until Bethy fell asleep.  Then Hawke used the large pillows as barricades for either side of Bethy and went to find her own dinner.

A generous portion of sliced roast, potatoes, carrots, and a nearly empty bottle of wine greeted her.  Hawke buttered one of the slices of bread eagerly as the others sat back and talked, mainly of what they were going to do with their little problem.  After listening to the other three basically bicker, however, she felt she needed to step in, metaphorically.

“Are we just to stay here the one night, then?” she asked, between bites, and arching a brow.

“We should stay here for two or three nights, at least,” Fenris said, latching onto the new topic.  “And then perhaps switch inns, or go back to your estate.  We should change our locations several times, in case these fools decide to continue hunting us down until we can find out where they are working out of.”

“I’ll probably be able to find out in a day or two, Broody, don’t get your smalls in a twist.  But staying here for a couple of nights won’t hurt anything,” Varric said, addressing the last to Hawke herself.

“Sleeping out here on the sofa beats sleeping back at my room at The Hanged Man any night,” Isabela said.  “Unless you’d care for me to share the bed?”  She gave Fenris a wink, which only made the elf scowl under his dark brows at her.

“Can you not leave off for one evening, wench?” he growled, hand curling into a fist.

“Fenris,” Hawke intoned, warningly, but he merely turned the scowl onto her.

“I am tired of the innuendo, Hawke,” he said, near as grumpily as she’d ever heard him.  “She could at least hold off for right now.”

“Maker, Hawke, he is a man who needs to get laid as soon as possible,” Isabela said, propping her chin in her hand.

“Just try to not antagonize him for now, ‘Bela,” Hawke said, with a sigh.  The last thing she needed was grumpy, fighting companions.  Or for Fenris to become even more surly and broody than he was already. “And Fenris, please just…”  She shook her head and sighed, suddenly losing her appetite.  She pushed the plate away and leaned back in her chair, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.  “Just don’t.  Please. For my sake.”

“You must eat, Hawke,” Fenris said, pushing the plate back towards her, and she groaned.

“I can’t eat with you all fighting and bickering.  It makes me sick.”

“Then we shall stop,” Fenris promised. 

“This is me, stopping,” Isabela added, helpfully.

“Stopping the bickering right now, Chuckles,” Varric concluded.

“Maker’s breath, you’re like children,” Hawke muttered, but she picked up her fork and took another bite of her food, anyway.

“Nothing else is going to get figured out tonight, anyway,” Varric assured them all.  “We’re just talking circles around things because we’re all concerned and there’s nobody definitive to kill yet.”  He took a long drink from his wineglass and then twisted the stem of it in his hands, seemingly lost in thought.

“There are some plans we can make, surely,” Hawke protested.  “Such as… If it’s too far, and we have to be gone for too long, then Aveline should be the one to watch Bethy.”

Fenris nodded, and even Isabela seemed in agreement.  “Big girl will do a good job.  You let Hero stay with her, I can’t think of many more places in the Free Marches where she’d be safer.”

“It would be better if you stayed behind, Hawke,” Fenris said, “but we both know you won’t.”

“Hopefully this won’t be too far away.  Hopefully we won’t be gone for too long.”

“Wishes and hopes can’t buy you much in Lowtown,” Varric said, darkly, which surprised Hawke.  He was usually one of the most optimistic of all of her companions. 

“Then it’s best we be prepared for the worst,” she said.  “And at the worst, we can send Orana, Bodahn, and Sandal to the house in Grunding to keep Bethany while we go off and fight the bad guys.”

“Why not just leave her with Aveline?”

“Because relatively few people know about the house in Grunding, which means it would be even more difficult for her to be found there.”

“I’m afraid there aren’t any good decisions in this matter,” Fenris said, glumly.  “Whatever decision that is to be made will involve a lot of risk and leaving her behind.”

“Maker, I don’t want to do that,” Hawke said, before shoving another forkful of food into her mouth and chewing morosely. 

“Like I said,” Varric announced, standing.  “We’re going around in circles tonight.  I’m headed back to The Hanged Man for the night.  I’ll drop in and see Aveline and let her know where you’re staying.  Discretely,” he added, as if Varric was ever anything but.

“Thanks for this, Varric,” Hawke told him.

“Anything for you and the kid, Chuckles,” Varric said, patting her on the shoulder as he left the room.

It was quiet after, relatively, save for the crackling of the small fire on the hearth and the sounds of Hawke eating.  She started to feel slightly uncomfortable with how quiet, in fact.  Isabela was leaned back in her chair, her feet propped up on Varric’s vacated one, seemingly asleep, and Fenris was staring at the wine bottle, quite obviously brooding over things. 

“Either of you up for a game of Wicked Grace?” Hawke asked, suddenly.  Isabela cracked one eye and looked her up and down before shrugging, and Fenris seemed startled by the sudden sound of her voice.  “What?  I can’t be a little bit bored?”

“The past few days haven’t been excitement enough?” Fenris replied.

“I just… want something normal,” Hawke muttered.  Isabela withdrew her Wicked Grace deck from wherever on her person she happened to carry such things (and she carried an amazing array of things; it just so happened that few of them could be carried in any place most people could tell was able to carry such) and began shuffling the cards.  Fenris shrugged and seemed to steel himself for losing some coin, and Hawke finished up what was left on the plate, mostly cold by now, and set it to the side with the other dishes to be collected.

She wound up losing several gold to Isabela, and she didn’t keep track of what Fenris lost, but there was no love lost between the rogue and the warrior as they battled it out through the cards.  Fenris was right about Hawke’s ability to bluff in cards: she was terrible at it, and usually only won when someone took pity on her.  Fenris was much better at the game than she was, but the point of it was just to sit back and play and have a little bit of fun being distracted. 

When the card games had run out and it was late enough, Hawke decided it was time to take that bath she had hoped for when they first entered the room.  Bethy was making the first stirring sounds, and Fenris promised that if Hawke made the bath relatively quick, he would see to the child and give her a chance to do so.  Isabela busied herself with putting the discarded dishes and empty wine bottle outside of the door and in the hallway, and then announced that she would take second watch and to wake her when it was time, to which Hawke quickly acquiesced. 

The rest of the night went as it typically did back in her estate: baths, feedings, sleeping, except it was Hawke who stayed up for first watch, waking Isabela in the early morning hours, and then Isabela who, in turn, woke Fenris, while Hawke slept on and Isabela napped on the sofa. 

When Varric finally returned to them in the afternoon, all three of them were feeling a little bit cooped up, but he brought no good news and no new information in regards to who it might be hunting Hawke, _other_ than the Carta.  With no further attacks on her home, and no word from Carver saying that he had been assaulted in the Templar barracks, either, Hawke risked a leisurely stroll around Hightown, carrying Bethy with her and flanked by Fenris and Isabela on either side.  She stopped in to see Aveline, and took the opportunity then to bring up the idea that Aveline might keep Bethy if Hawke needed to go chase down these ghosts, and then she stopped in to see Sebastian simply for the company.  He came out with them so rarely, but had proven to be a good friend, that she was glad to stop by just to chat, and they were relatively safe in the Chantry, anyway.  Plus, Sebastian was happy to let her use his little room to nurse Bethy in, the better to keep her cover for the time being.

It was that night that they struck again at the Hawke estate, although they found it mostly unoccupied, and they struck again at the Templar barracks, which was mostly occupied with Templars angry over interrupted sleep.  The first time the Carta dwarves struck, none of them made it out alive.  This time, there were prisoners, and the prisoners talked.

Lucky for her, Hawke woke up to the news, instead of being awoken with it during the night, because the news what was not at all what she wanted to hear.  There was more nonsense about “the blood of the Hawke,” but more telling, they got a location, and the location was far north, in the Vinmarks.

“The middle of frickin nowhere,” Varric said, shaking his head and sighing.  “As far as I can tell, there’s nothing actually there.”

“There has to be something there,” Hawke said, bouncing Bethy lightly in her arms.  “Or else they wouldn’t have both said the same thing.”

“Can we trust them, thought?” Isabela asked, sounding bored.  “Maybe they were both paid to say the same thing.”

“They’re… not all there,” Varric said.  “I don’t think they’d know how to lie.”

“Poison?”  Isabela arched a brow.

“It looks more like Blight sickness,” Varric confessed. 

“Well, we have a location now, and I’ll have to leave Bethy here, because we’ve got to find those bastards and put a stop to things.”  Hawke scowled, feeling even more furious than she had before. 

“Okay, so who’s going?” Varric asked.

“Me.  Carver.  Fenris…”

“You wouldn’t get out of bringing him,” Varric acknowledged, and Hawke nodded her head graciously. 

“You, Isabela?”  The woman in question raised her hand as if the answer were a foregone conclusion.  “You’ll come, too, Varric?”

“Of course.  The Carta doesn’t usually act like this, and I’m not going to let them get away with trying to murder my best friend.”  His answer warmed her heart a little bit and she gave him a bright smile. 

“Merrill, if she’ll come, and Anders as well.  We have no idea how many we’re going to be facing, or what exactly we’ll be facing, and I have a feeling we’ll wind up needing all of us.  I’d ask Aveline and Sebastian to come along, if I weren’t sure they didn’t have duties and I didn’t need her to watch over Bethy for me.”

“We can get to that area in a week of hard travel,” Varric said.  “And then a week back.  You’ll lose your milk, probably, but we won’t be gone for too long.”

“Any time is too long,” Hawke said, pressing her lips to Bethy’s dark hair and breathing in her baby scent.  “But anything to keep her and Carver safe.”

“Varric, your turn to play babysitter.  I’ll go let kitten know,” Isabela said, stretching lazily and heading for the door of the inn suite.

“Any suggestions on when we should leave?” Hawke asked Varric, while Isabela was leaving herself.

“The sooner there, the sooner back.  We could leave out tomorrow, if you wanted.”  Hawke closed her eyes tight and held Bethy to her; for her part, the baby squirmed and made unhappy sounds. 

“If we can get Anders and Merrill aboard that soon, then,” she agreed. 

Getting word to Aveline was as easy as taking a stroll to the guard barracks.  Getting word to Carver was as easy as sending Fenris to the Templar barracks, and Fenris bringing word back that Carver would be ready to go whenever Hawke was. 

Then it was simply a matter of acquainting Aveline with the idea of caring for a child.  She had to learn to use the bubby pots and to change nappies, and was given a rough sketch of when Bethy tended to want to be fed, so that she would be aware.  

“The nighttime feedings are the worst,” Hawke warned her.  “You’ll tend to want to sleep through them, but she’ll cry the barracks down if you don’t make yourself wake a little bit.  And then the goat’s milk has to be warmed slightly, or else she won’t want to take it, and she’ll need a nappy change as well.  So be prepared for little sleep for the first couple of nights, until your body adjusts more to the rhythm.”

“I think I can figure it out, Hawke,” Aveline said, blandly.

“Everyone thinks that until they’re ass deep in used nappies and infant tears,” Hawke replied, loftily.  “Take it from me; I’m giving  you good advice for free here, Aveline.”

“Fine, fine,” Aveline grumbled.  “And no idea when you’ll be back?”

“None,” Hawke answered, honestly.  “We know, sort of, where we should be going, and we know, sort of, about how long it will take us to get there and back, assuming we’re able to travel quickly, which assumes we’ll all be in good health.  At least two weeks of traveling, though, I can tell you that much.”

“That doesn’t sound promising,” Aveline warned.  Hawke shrugged slightly, in apology.

“It’s not promising-sounding to me, either,” she confessed.  “But it’s the best we have to go on, and we can’t live in fear of being attacked every night just because some mad Carta dwarves want my blood.”

“I can agree with that,” said Aveline.  “And you said Orana would be willing to come help out?”

“As much as you need her to do.  In fact, if you want to stay in one of my guest rooms, you can, er… be my guest?”

“I might take you up on that offer.  I’m planning on taking a little bit of leave while you’re gone, so that I can be sure nothing happens to Bethy.  It’ll probably be boring as hell, but anything for you, Hawke.”

“Anything?”  She laughed and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face.  “You’ll regret saying that when she’s a mopey teenager.”

“Maker, if she’s anything like Fenris she’s going to want to dress in all black and brood all over the place,” Aveline said, with a smile, and that caused Hawke to chuckle.

“We’ll be back in the morning, to drop Bethy off, and her things.  Just remember, if she cries more than you’re used to, it’s probably because she’s missing us.”

“I’ll make sure Orana stays nearby, to help out at first,” Aveline promised.  “She’s spent enough time around her that Bethy should feel a little more soothed.”

“I appreciate this, Aveline.  I appreciate it so much,” Hawke told the woman, earnestly.

“I know.  And I owe you this and probably a few more, for all you’ve helped me out,” Aveline told her.  “Now, I know you need to make other plans, so get going.”

Hawke indeed had other plans to make, and she spent the rest of that afternoon making them.  Anders and Merrill both reported in, and, although Anders did not particularly care for the idea of leaving his clinic unmanned so that he could travel parts unknown with Hawke, especially since Hawke and Fenris had not seemed to have quarreled enough for her to go running to his arms, he still consented to come.  That relieved Hawke a great deal; she was an excellent Healer, but he was a better one, in truth, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt for them to have two Healers with them, just in case they ran into more trouble than they were expecting.

Her biggest surprise was Sebastian: Fenris had, apparently, told Sebastian what the most recent word was, and the prince pledged his bow to Hawke’s service in this endeavor, should she wish him along.  Taking a mental headcount, Hawke indeed decided she wished him along, and then thought better of it.

“Sebastian, I’ll already have two rogues going with me.  I value your offer of help tremendously, but perhaps I could get you to help in a different way?”

“Whatever you need, Hawke, I stand ready.”

“Help Aveline,” she pressed.  “Help her watch Bethy.  If Elthina will let you, spend as much time with Aveline and Bethy as you can.  Be the extra guard on her that I cannot be right now.”

“This is a great responsibility you have given me, Hawke.  I will not fail you, I swear.”  She gave him a tremulous smile and a quick hug, which he returned in kind. 

“Thank you, Sebastian.  I appreciate all the help that you will be giving me.”

“I have dealt with the Chantry orphans many times, Hawke.  Perhaps not as young as Bethy, but I have found that I enjoy children well enough.  I will, if the Maker sees fit, be able to serve as both nursemaid and guard.”

She couldn’t quite stifle her giggle at that.  “You’ll definitely be a big help to Aveline, then,” Hawke told him, and patted him on the shoulder congenially.  “Now, I’ve got other things to do, so if you could do me one more favor, go let Aveline know you’ll be staying behind and helping, this time.”

“As you wish, Hawke,” Sebastian said, with a slight bow.

It was well after their regular dinner time when Fenris returned to Hawke’s estate, laden with supplies that they would need for the trip and quite ready for dinner.  He was grumpier than usual, probably because he had spent most of the day running errands, and seemed fit for little more than a dinner and a bath and bed, and Hawke soon joined him there, after getting Bethy settled, dreading what the morning would bring.


	17. Leaving, With the Hawke Crew, Don't Know When We'll Be Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Fenris, and company set out for the Vinmarks. Hawke has a great deal of separation anxiety and is visited by three spirits of comforting to help her get through it.

She had certainly not expected leaving Bethy in Aveline’s most capable hands to be easy, but neither had she expected it to be so _hard_.

They gathered at Hawke’s estate that morning with the intent on leaving out before midday.  Hawke was trying to take the chance to shove five months’ worth of parenting into Aveline’s brain in an hour, and Aveline was trying to indulge her as much as she possibly could without snapping that she would be able to figure things out.

Varric had managed to get some supplies together that would last them for a good couple of days once they got out of Kirkwall, as well as partitioning some gold from Hawke’s account at one of the rare banks in the Free Marches into smaller pouches for everyone to carry (on Hawke’s orders, naturally.) Somehow, he had managed to find quite a large quantity of lyrium potions, and a smaller amount of stamina draughts, and those were packed in a separate bag, to partition out before they left.  Merrill, who had shown up rather earlier than Hawke wanted anyone to show up, was busying herself counting those out and preparing the packs with said potions, along with the usual healing potions. 

Orana had risen even earlier than Merrill’s arrival and kept them all in breakfast, sometimes wringing her hands or giving Hawke sympathetic looks.  As much as Hawke tried to keep the tears from her eyes, every one of the members of her crew and household had seen them glistening there at one point in time or another during the course of the morning preparations, although none of them, thankfully, said anything. 

When it was time to be off, the tears could no longer be hidden, despite Hawke’s attempts at maintaining a strong façade.  Even Fenris seemed uneasy and sorrowful at the idea of leaving his daughter behind, although it certainly wasn’t because he didn’t trust Aveline or Sebastian to watch her properly and keep her safe.  However, Hawke managed to pry herself away from the twelfth “just one last kiss for mommy” with Bethy and then, adjusting her staff on its holder and her pack on her back, she took point, as usual, leading the others.

They were used to leaving Kirkwall by the southern gate, to trek up and along the Wounded Coast, that area of land that was kept separated from Ferelden by the Waking Sea.  Leaving by the northern gate felt queer, and Hawke kept getting the nagging feeling that they were going the wrong way.  But, Varric’s information had been good: late the night before, while she and Fenris were sleeping, he had received more intelligence from a contact that discussed the Carta hideout somewhere in the Vinmarks.  As the two dwarves had mentioned it separately, and then Varric’s contact had added a third, they all felt much more secure in the knowledge that the Vinmarks were where they wanted to go, and so there they went.

There weren’t many established settlements between Kirkwall and their destination, but Varric noted a scant handful of villages and one slightly larger town that was probably similar to Grunding.  Enough distance that they would have to push, but, so long as things went well, the entire crew could possibly be sleeping in beds in inns or taverns most of the way there and back.  Indeed, the sun was just starting to set when they came to the first village, and they managed to get a hayloft for, quite honestly, a princely sum of gold, as well as repast and plenty of ale at the local tavern.

By that time, Hawke was in agony, and wanted little more than to try to Heal herself, or have Anders Heal her.  Her breasts felt engorged, and tight and hot, like they did that day on the Coast, and the separation from Bethy was wearing on her greatly.  It was difficult to think of little but the fact that it would be at least two weeks before she saw her daughter again as they marched forward.  Even the banter had to eventually die down, and when it did her mind went to Bethy over and again.  Every short stop they had made found her in tears, no matter what she did, and no amount of cheering from the others actually _cheered_ her.  Fenris did not even bother to try; he was snappish, where she was teary, and growling where she was a half-step from a sob when she tried to talk too soon after her thoughts drifted.

She ate barely half of the stew that was set in front of her, and took only a few drinks of the watered-down ale that the tavern had to offer before begging off, claiming she wanted to sleep.  The others let her go with sympathetic noises and looks, except for Fenris, who seemed more intent in imbibing the entire tavern’s worth of crappy liquor in favor of food.  He looked like he felt as guilty and rotten as she did, and Hawke wished, desperately, that he would come with her and offer some sort of comfort, _any_ kind of comfort, rather than getting himself so drunk he’d wind up passing out or vomiting all over her boots again.

Hawke pressed a silver into the hand of the stable boy who had already been paid to watch their things while they ate, and then crawled up into the hayloft, searching for her pack so that she could set up her bed in the far corner, away from everyone else.  Her eyes felt hot and prickly, and her nose was starting to drip slightly, which meant that she was very close to not being able to control the tears.  Indeed, she had only just gotten her bedroll laid out when they came, and she flung herself down onto it on her stomach and pressed her eyes against her arms, her body suddenly being wracked with sobs.  It _hurt_.  It hurt, almost physically, and she could do little but worry.  What if those Carta dwarves came back and took her?  What if they killed her?  Hawke could defend Bethy, or Fenris could, but she couldn’t trust Aveline to do so (which was a lie, and she knew it, but anything to punish herself.)  She was a horrible mother, abandoning her nursing infant to go off chasing after a gang of dwarves, when the others could just as easily handle the job.  She was… she was…

A gentle hand pressed down against her back and Hawke jolted up suddenly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.  Of all the people she would have expected to come comfort her, Carver was the last one, but he gathered his sister into his arms and Hawke felt a hitching in her chest as she clung to his tunic.

“You’re not a bad mother,” he told her, gently, and then her tears truly came.

After she was done, she had no idea how long had passed.  It felt like hours, but was probably only a half hour, at most.  Her eyes felt heavy, and Carver’s tunic was absolutely ruined, between tears and snot.  But she sat back and tried to pat the dampness off her face, tried to get herself settled, while Carver made superficial grumbling noises about the state of his attire, and weak jokes about how awfully blotchy her face look when she cried.

“Thanks, Carver,” she managed to say, ducking her head down and refusing to make eye contact.

“I know a little bit of how you’re feeling.  Not… entirely, but a little bit.”

“How could you?” she asked, incredulously.

“When I left to join the Templars, there was a little voice inside of me that told me I was abandoning you and mother, even though it was the right thing to do.  The _necessary_ thing, for me.  And nobody is going to fault you for being sad about it, either, so don’t worry about that.”  He rubbed his neck awkwardly, face set in a determined line and a faint blush on his cheeks.  “Just… don’t worry about it, Marian.  It won’t be that long, and we’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’ll wash your shirt for you, next inn we’re able to stop at,” she promised him, and he grinned a little bit at that.

“You haven’t washed your own clothes in years.  I bet you’ve forgotten.”

“Lies and slander,” she said, sniffling and drawing her knees up to her chest.  “I’ll have you know that I help Orana around the house every chance I get.  She just happens to be particular about how she wants things done, and I daren’t intrude on her domain more than she’ll let me.”

“Who’s the boss in that situation?” Carver asked, and she punched him playfully in the shoulder.  “Listen, I’m going to head back to the tavern,” he told her, standing and slipping the offending tunic off, making for his pack to find another one.  “I’ll tell the others you’re asleep, if you want me to.  Your pe— _Fenris_ ,” he corrected himself.  “Has decided he’s going to drink every last drop that place has, but Varric told me, before I came to find you, that he would help put a limit on what the man can actually drink.”

“Good, good,” Hawke mumbled, nodding her head, which suddenly hurt.  A light flick of her wrist and a Rejuvination spell was running through her; she felt almost as if she’d had a good night’s sleep, instead of crying her eyes out for a half hour.

With a wave of his hand, Carver disappeared back down the ladder of the hayloft and Hawke was left alone.  There were a couple of sputtering lanterns, but in the interest of preventing fires in the hayloft, she extinguished the flames one by one and set them alight with magelight instead, full of determination to actually turn in and go to sleep before any of the others arrived and wanted to have heart-to-hearts with her.  Carver’s interference was welcome, especially after the fact, but she did not feel like speaking with anyone save Fenris regarding her sorrows.

She managed to fall asleep in her little nest, only to be disturbed an unknown amount of time later when Varric and Carver were helping a horribly drunken Fenris climb up the ladder.  It was obvious that the two more sober ones were trying to keep things quiet, but Fenris, usually a chatty drunk anyway, was making things much more difficult.  Hawke began pushing herself up from the bedroll and then decided against it, letting the others take care of things this time.  She was their leader, for the most part, but she had learned that she didn’t have to do _everything_ over the years, and one of those things definitely included shepherding her more drunken crew members home.  She could even count, relatively, on Anders escorting a drunken Fenris home, if push came to shove, simply so he could avoid Hawke’s displeasure at knowing he did otherwise, just like she knew she could count on Fenris protecting Anders in a fight nearly as well as he would protect her.

It was good for her that she had that level of trust, because they only let Fenris fall down off the ladder once, and she figured, so long as he wasn’t truly injured, the man deserved it, for drowning his sorrows like that instead of helping to comfort her.  But, she reminded herself, he was an adult, and if he didn’t want to, she wouldn’t force him.  And so she tried to stamp down on the little giggle of mirthy schadenfreude that rose up in her when he drunkenly called out, “ _Fasta vass, Varric, you fool,”_ when the dwarf failed to pull him up properly.

She couldn’t pretend to sleep further when they dumped him, rather unceremoniously, in a pile beside her bedroll, but she did sit up and feign that she had been sleeping, reclining on an elbow and rubbing her eyes in a tired manner that did not need to be faked.  Fenris lay on his back and groaned slightly, one arm slung across his eyes, and Hawke sighed when Carver looked at her, face washed-out in the magelight, expecting her to _do something_ about Fenris’s inebriated condition.  Varric just shrugged and set about getting his own bedroll laid out a good distance from where he had helped dump the elf.

“Aren’t you going to Heal him or something?” Carver asked, finally, wiggling his fingers like he had seen her do so often.

“I should leave him the headache in the morning so he wouldn’t do this again,” Hawke said, sourly.

“I’m right here, you know,” Fenris moaned, and Hawke directed a frown at him, which he did not see.

“If we’re going to get started earlier,” Carver told her, impatiently, “then we don’t need him sicking up all over the place in the morning, and we need him to have a decent night’s sleep.”

“Whatever,” Hawke muttered, irritated, and sat up to better reach out and lay a hand against Fenris’s head.  He flinched slightly, and moved his arm enough to see that it was her touching him, obviously wanting to take back the flinch upon the discovery.  Hawke called forth her mana and directed a Rejuvenation spell into him, which seemed to cause the worst of the drunken state to fall away.  She usually made him suffer through drunken nights, figuring waking up feeling that way in the morning was its own punishment, but Carver had a good point, even if she didn’t want to acknowledge his “good points” any further that evening.

“Thank you, Hawke,” Fenris said, after a few minutes.  She scowled at him, and then directed the look to Carver.

“Anyone else going to need Rejuvenation tonight?  Because I’m going back to sleep, and they can go to Anders.”

“I think their coin purses are just getting lightened by ‘Bela,” Carver admitted, setting out his bedroll while Fenris sat up and rubbed at his temples and brushed the straw off his back, alternatingly. 

“Good,” she said, and turned resolutely to face the hayloft wall, crossing her arms over her chest angrily.  Hopefully no one else would bother her that evening. She heard someone settling down relatively close to her and figured it was Fenris, and, irritated, folded her arms under her head so that she could have a better pillow to fall asleep on.

They must have left her alone for in the morning, when she awoke, she realized that she had slept through the night for the first time since well before Bethy arrived (what with having so many needful trips to the privy in the weeks before she gave birth, anyway) and felt more refreshed than she had for a long time.  She had to cast another Rejuvenation spell on her breasts, though, and bound herself using two cloths since they had leaked ridiculously (in her opinion) during the night.  In fact, she wanted a bath, but since they were all determined to start out as early as possible, she knew that idea would be nixed and settled for taking a rather ratty wooden bucket she located down in the stable and filling it with ice, then melting it into water and giving herself the quickest, cheapest wipe-down she knew how to do. 

By the time she was done and dressed in a tunic that wasn’t so damp, and in trousers and an over-robe, Merrill was awake and grateful for the bucket of wash-water.  The others all woke soon after, and before the sun was truly up, they all seemed ready to leave out.

Rejuvenation and some of the more simple Healing spells got her through the next two days, as far as her breasts were concerned, and by the end of the fourth day of travel it looked like her milk was drying up.  This sent her into a renewed fit of tears when they finally reached the small-sized town and a proper inn, and she kept to herself in the room that she had taken for herself (and presumably Fenris, should the elf ever deign to speak with her for something other than Healing and Rejuvenation), mostly crying.  It was Merrill who checked on her, when she did not come downstairs to join the others for the meal, and Merrill who, in her relentlessly optimistic way, told her that she could ask Fenris for comfort if he wasn’t offering it on his own.

“Fenris doesn’t seem very good at the idea of comforting someone,” she said, matter-of-factly.  “He’s very good at swording, but naught else, Hawke, and you need some comfort from Bethy’s father, I would think.  Or are you not together anymore?  Creators, I can never remember!”

“I don’t know if we are or not,” she confessed.  “Sometimes I think one, and sometimes I think the other.”

“He likes you,” Merrill told her, frankly.  “He always gets those sad puppy eyes when you’re not looking at him, like he’d give anything to have you smile in his direction.  But I think Fenris might be afraid of happiness.”

Hawke wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief.  “I think you’re right.  He’s so afraid Danarius is going to take it from him.”

Merrill snorted delicately.  “As if any of us would let that happen.  Well, maybe Anders, because Anders fancies you, but probably only him.”

Merrill leaned up more against Hawke on the bed, and Hawke took the opportunity to cuddle against her.  Blood mage and maleficar though she may be, Merrill was incredibly snuggly and always there for her friends.  She was everything you’d expect a blood mage _wouldn’t_ be.  She rested her head on Merrill’s shoulder and sighed.  “I miss Bethy so much.  I’m sorry, it’s making me a terrible traveling companion.”

“I think it’s normal,” Merrill told her, kindly.  “Of course you’re going to miss her.  But we’ll hopefully be back sooner rather than later, and then you’ll get to see her again and she won’t even remember that you were gone.”

“Do you think so?”

“Oh yes. Babies at that age simply don’t remember things for very long.  She’ll be happy to see you and happy to be rid of Aveline, and you may even be able to get your milk to come back in.  It’s happened before, with some of the hunters in the clan.”

She sat up then, eyes wide.  “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“I… didn’t think about it?”  She shrugged slightly.  “It doesn’t always happen, and I wouldn’t want to give you false hope, Hawke.  But maybe it will, and maybe having a little bit of false hope is better than none.  Even if your milk didn’t come back in, the joy of seeing Bethy again after weeks of separation would be enough to take the sting away.”

“You’re smarter than anyone gives you credit for,” Hawke said, gently, and rested her head back on the willing shoulder.  Merrill patted her on the back.

“A lot of people discount me because of the blood magic.  I know Fenris does.  But I spent years training to be First and I _do_ know _some_ things.”

“You know a lot.  And since you know a lot, tell me: do you think Fenris still likes me?”

“I think it’s well past like, actually, Hawke.”  It got rather quiet in the little room for a moment, and Hawke shifted her position somewhat.  “Do you… think Carver might like me?  A little bit?”

“Carver’s fancied you for years, Merrill.”  When Merrill startled, her own eyes going wide this time, Hawke had to chuckle.  “Did you truly not know?”

“I just thought he told dirty jokes.  But Isabela said he might fancy me, and… Well, Isabela thinks everyone fancies everyone else.  I was just wondering.  I wasn’t sure if a human could love an elf, really and truly, until I spent time with you and Fenris in the little Grunding house.  You love him and see him as an equal, and maybe if you do, Carver could see me as an equal, too, and not just an elf.”

“The only reason Carver is mean about Fenris is because it’s me,” she assured Merrill, kindly.  “He’s definitely not racist against elves, and… well, I know he liked you, before he became a Templar.  He hasn’t had anyone since, as far as I know, so he probably does still like you.  You should ask him.  Or just kiss him; Carver can be somewhat dense sometimes, but kissing him would probably do the trick.”

Merrill sighed slightly.  “It’s been so long since anyone’s kissed me,” she said.  “I might have forgotten how to do it.”  At Hawke’s laugh, Merrill put on a smile.  “Well, I might have.”

“Then who better to practice on than Carver?”

“And… you wouldn’t mind?  You wouldn’t be mad that I was kissing your brother?”

“Not at all,” she replied, honestly.  “You are a good person, and Carver’s… a bit of a tit, actually, but there are worse brothers in the world.” 

A beat later and they both said, “Bartrand,” at the same time, which caused Hawke to laugh and Merrill to giggle.

“But Carver’s not liable to end up dead by me,” Hawke assured her.  “Not unless he keeps bothering Fenris like he does, and then it might only be to shut them up.”

“I bet Fenris would be happy if you came out to eat dinner, Hawke,” Merrill said, easing herself away from the woman gently.  “I know I’m interested in having a bit of supper myself.”

“I… think I’d like to be alone a little while longer, if that’s okay.”

“Of course!  Take all the time you need.”  Merrill got up off the bed and smoothed out her robes.  “Would you like me to tell Fenris to come in here and keep you company?”

“I wouldn’t want him doing anything he didn’t already want,” Hawke objected.

“Oh, I think he wants to, he just doesn’t know how.  But maybe if I’m not in here, he’d be more up for a conversation.  I know you two haven’t talked much.”  She grinned suddenly.  “And maybe I can get Carver to tell me a dirty joke.  I do like to hear them, sometimes.”

“If you think Fenris wouldn’t mind…”

“I really don’t, Hawke.  But if you’re hungry, you should come out and eat, and if you’re tired, you should nap, and if you’re sad, you should cry.  Nobody’s going to stop you.”  And then Merrill was gone, leaving Hawke alone.

She stretched out on the bed, resting the heel of one booted foot on the toe of another, her arms folded behind her head and watching the ceiling of the small room by the sputtering light of a dying lantern.  Perhaps it wasn’t so good, spending time alone, but it was better than being a drag on everyone else’s night, and she wasn’t sure what she could say to them, other than talk about Bethy.

When she was sure a half-hour had passed, and still there was no sign of Fenris, she sighed and got herself up from the bed and made her way, as quietly as possible, into the common room of the inn, where the tables were set up.  Her crew occupied two of them pushed together, and they seemed quite preoccupied by eating and drinking.  She stood in the doorway of the hall for a few minutes, leaning against the weathered wood and watching them all.

They were a good crew, and loyal, as they had proven time and again to her, and Hawke felt the beginning of tears again as she watched them interact.  Blinking hard to get rid of them, she sniffled slightly and made herself go to meet them, sitting between Varric and Anders and waving her hand to get the attention of the serving girl, then asking for some of the stew and bread, and a bottle of wine.  Perhaps it was _her_ turn to get drunk.  It didn’t seem to have worked for Fenris, but Hawke hadn’t been drunk in a year and a half, so perhaps it would work for her.

Conversation had died down just a little bit when she sat, but by the time the serving girl delivered her a bowl that seemed to be more meat and vegetables than actual broth, as well as a bottle of what she _thought_ was a rather good vintage of wine, along with a glass, the conversation had picked back up.  Mostly the talk stayed away from their destination, and stayed away from those they had left back in Kirkwall.  It tended more towards talking about various jobs they had been on, and the things that were going on in their lives that some of the others might not be aware of.  Isabela called, as usual, for some Wicked Grace, and by the time Hawke had finished with eating (and had drank two full glasses of the wine, which were already going to her head) they were ready to have everything cleared and the game start.

Before an hour’s worth of gameplay had finished, Hawke was done with the bottle of wine, and Varric had her cut off.  It was probably for the best; she was veritably leaning against Anders, resting her head on his feathered pauldron and starring at the cards which seemed to not want to hold still.  Anders took the opportunity, as often as possible, to slip a free hand around Hawke’s shoulders, and Hawke was wondering if he was getting the wrong idea about her leaning self when _he_ leaned in and whispered that he was happy to switch rooms with Fenris, should Hawke wish it.  _That_ made her sit up straight, and she rubbed the drunkenness from her eyes, realizing she wasn’t so drunk as to sleep with Anders now or anytime again, so long as Fenris still seemed to want her.  It was about that time she noticed the looks he was sending their direction: dark, angry, angsty.  Oh.

“I fold,” she said, abruptly, and quite out of turn.  She placed her cards face-down on the table and tried to stand, finally succeeding on her third attempt.  The room was not acquiescing to her desires of staying still.

“We’re not even to that part yet,” Isabela told her, archly.

“Doesn’t matter.  Fold.  M’goin’ to my room,” she announced, and realized from the slurring that she was quite as drunk as she had ever been. 

“Do you even remember where your room is?” Isabela asked, grinning.  “I can show you, if you’ve a mind.”

“Not…”  She pointed a finger at Isabela and closed one eye.  “Not this yet.  Time.  Maker,” she moaned, and touched her head. 

“I fold as well,” Fenris announced, placing his own hand on the table, face-down like Hawke’s.  “I will make sure she arrives in our room safely.”  Was there an extra emphasis on _“our room_ ,” or was that imagination?  Her head spun and she felt a little bit sick to her stomach. 

Somehow, she made it back into their room, however, and onto the bed.  The door closed heavily behind her, almost a slamming.  While she was gone, the lantern had gone out, and there was only the faint light of the waxing moon through the single, high-placed window.

“Tell the room to stop,” Hawke moaned, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

“Would you care to tell me why you were hanging all over the abomination?”  Fenris asked, his voice hard.  Angry?  Check.  Irritated?  Check.  Jealous?  …Check?

“I never was,” she objected, trying to sit up and not quite managing it.

“Then I suppose it was some other mage resembling you who was leaned against him most of the night,” he retorted.

“I… never was,” she said, again, for it seemed the thing to say.

“You have barely spoken with me these last several days, Marian,” he accused, and Hawke managed to get up on an elbow and look at his face in the moonshadows.  When that told her next to nothing, she tried a half dozen times for a good mage light, finally making a globe that was far larger than she meant to make.  Fenris glared at it, then her, angrily.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she said.

“I thought you did, and that you would come to me.”

“Carver talked to me about Bethy,” she said.  “But you just got drunk.”

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” he complained, hitting his gauntleted hand against the wall.  “Do you not know me at all at this point, Hawke?  These topics are… difficult… for me to discuss.  And the discussions are near impossible for me to initiate.”

“I just thought,” she said, lamely.  She wasn’t sure what she thought, but she had thought about it. 

The fight seemed to go out of him and he heaved a sigh before sitting down on the end of the bed, resolutely not looking at her.  “If you do not want me here… command me to go, and I shall, Hawke,” he said, his voice soft.

“Where did you get that idea?”

“From the way you were ogling the mage,” he replied, tartly.

“Maker… I was ogling my cards,” she said, flopping back down on one of the pillows.  “I was _leaning_ against Anders because I think I drank too much.”

“You… I know it has been a while, but you do not still harbor feelings towards him?”  She kicked at him, or in his general direction, pushing against his back, finally, with one booted foot. 

“What do you think, dummy?”  It was her turn to sigh now.  “Are you going to get jealous over ever guy I lean drunkenly against?”

“Perhaps,” he replied, in that soft tone. 

“C’mere,” she told him, gesturing with one hand, and Fenris turned and lay down beside her, pressing against her chest to chest.  She rested her head against his shoulder and nuzzled her face against his neck.  “How many times do I have to tell you that I am yours?” she asked, suddenly feeling tired.  Fenris slid his arms around her and held Hawke tight against him; she wiggled around until she found a comfortable position that mostly avoided the sharp breastplate, objecting slightly to the gauntlets.

“I do not think I will ever tire of hearing that,” Fenris confessed, and he sounded as tired as she felt. 

“I miss Bethy,” she told him, and felt him place a kiss on top of her head.

“I know,” he said.  “I do, as well.  I did not think it would be this difficult.”

“I… didn’t, either.”  Hawke shifted slightly.  “Do you think you can take those gauntlets off?”

“Do you think you could take your boots off?”

“Probably not,” she acknowledged.  “But you’re welcome to try.”  Fenris huffed a soft chuckle and sat up, divesting himself of his various and sundry armor before helping Hawke remove her boots.  When he lay back down beside her, it was a lot easier to snuggle against him.

“I’m going to have a bitch of a headache in the morning,” she said, faintly.

“Why do you not do a Rejuvenation on yourself now?”

“To teach myself a lesson?”

“Hawke.”

“Fenris.”

“Use the magic, Hawke.”  She sighed and reached for her mana, managing to finally hold onto it but fairly unable to cast the spell.

“I forgot how,” she confessed.  He laughed again, softly.

“Are you laughing at me, serah?”

“You are the worst mage I’ve ever met,” he told her, fondly.

“Lies and slander.”

“It’s not lies and slander when it’s the truth.”

“You’re only saying that because you’ve only had crappy mages to compare me to.”  She felt the soft press of his lips against her forehead, and then against her cheek, and then he was tilting her face towards his, and she felt the soft press of his lips against hers.  His hand slipped down and began pulling the skirts of her robe up slowly.

“Messere,” she said, pulling away from him.  “Are you trying to take advantage of my drunken state?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I can think of worse things,” she said, pressing her forehead against his and allowing her fingers to trail down his bared arm.

“So is that a ‘yes’?”

“Let’s see how this part goes,” Hawke responded.  “And then we’ll see how the next part goes.”


	18. Visit The Scenic Vinmark Mountains! (Insane Dwarves Extra)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Fenris, and Crew make their way through the Vinmarks only to find that their hosts aren't very welcoming. After a close call, Fenris gets concerned about Hawke.
> 
> This chapter is explicit for violence, canon-typical violence, blood, gore, yucky things, sweat, smut, sex, adult situations, cursing, and generally stupid Carta dwarves. Viewer Discretion Is Advised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an ADULT chapter, with lots of violence, blood, yuck and smut. If you don't want to read those kinds of things, this is not the chapter for you. 
> 
> Soundtrack of the night: Bauhuas, In The Flat Field. Not that listening to it will make the chapter better, but it's mostly what I was listening to while I wrote it. Other musical inspiration included, as usual, Type O Negative's October Rust (specifically Love You to Death and Be My Druidess, 'cuz Fenris makes me feel like some Type O!)

After they got out of civilization, the trek up the mountains seemed endless.  Varric had estimated that it would take them a week to get to their destination, and by a week’s time they had only just gotten into the mountains.  From there, it wasn’t much of a matter of pushing as much as they could, but of trying to make any sort of headway when they spent as much time climbing up mountains and hills as they did actually moving forward. 

They were also far enough away from civilization that there were no longer even any remote farmsteads for them to find a quick bed or a meal at for the night, which meant that each day they had to make camp and hunt at least once.  This was something they were familiar with, short-term, from extended trips up and down the Wounded Coast, but adding mountains, bears, heavy foliage, a distinct lack of a path, and increasingly colder temperatures the higher they were forced to go (that none of them were prepared for, what with it being the beginning of Solace and thus still fully summer back in the relatively coastal area of Kirkwall), the worse everyone seemed to take any setbacks.

Of all of them, Merrill had the most absolute hunting experience, but her hunting experience was limited to a few trips out with the Dalish hunters, mainly to help with minor Healing should problems arise.  The little bit of hunting that they had done back on the coast was mostly with snares, from known rabbit runs, which were obvious because bandits, raiders, and slavers in the area had worn the paths down in those particular areas.  Fishing was also easier along the Coast, and, even if Fenris didn’t care for fish, when the choice was “fish, or go hungry until we find something else,” he was willing to eat the fish caught on the Coast.  However, the most they were able to find, water-wise, there in the Vinmarks were shallow streams that seemed to lack any sort of fish.

If Sebastian had been with them, hunting would probably have been easier, for the rogues were naturally good at stalking and stealth, and he was an expert with a bow.  Varric’s crossbow was powerful, but it didn’t quite measure up to an actual bow for hunting.  This left them scrambling for some sort of idea of how to feed themselves, until Anders stumbled upon a simple solution of electrocuting a deer that had wandered too close to them.  No one felt like complaining of the slight ozone taste to the meat, so long as their bellies were full of rather gamey, unsalted venison, however.

The paths were another difficult thing.  It seemed like this location, wherever it was, had no roads to it.  All of them felt that was extremely strange, but the few landmarks they were able to come across complemented the landmarks that the Carta dwarves mentioned, and so long as they kept going the way they were, lack of path or no, they knew they were on the right track.

Hawke was more than grateful for the warmth of her robes, but even they did little to keep out the true cold, at night.  She took to huddling against Fenris for warmth, whenever neither of the two of them had watch duty.  This worked out well for her, since Fenris seemed to be a walking fire and kept her more than toasty, but some of the other members of the crew suffered a lot more, since they did not have their own personal heater to keep them warm.  Anders, Merrill, and Carver, being Fereldens, were much more used to the cold despite their years living in Kirkwall, and they were the ones who suffered the least.  Isabela suffered the most, in part due to the scanty clothing she always chose to wear and in part because Rivain was far north and of a much hotter climate in general.  Hawke laughed about Varric and said he had a combination of his chest hair and Bianca to help keep _him_ warm.

The bears were an issue all of them had to deal with, and the reason that two people remained up for watch at all times, with shifts overlapping.  While the people had issues with the cold and relative lack of easy food, the bears seemed to have none, and there were just so _many_ of them!  One day they had to kill five bears, and all of them lamented the fact that they could not afford to skin the things and wait for the pelts to dry out; besides, within a week the things would surely be stinking from lack of sufficient curing, anyway.

The journey through the actual “mountain” part of the Vinmark Mountains took them an extra four days, and by the time they stumbled to where they were supposed to be, wherever _it_ was, they were all cross with each other, tired, hungry for something that wasn’t deer, and dreading what was surely coming up.

 _It_ seemed to be some sort of fortress, and that fortress seemed to be some sort of dwarven make.  When Varric pulled them up short, having taken the lead over the others after the first full day in the mountains, in order to better guide them to their destination, all Hawke could do was stare around in confusion.

“That looks like the Merchant’s Guild,” Varric said, confused, as he gestured to a wagon that was on fire.  Dead dwarves lay around it, and the wagon, however it had gotten there, was toppled on its side, its contents spilling out onto paved ground that looked like it had been paved many Ages prior. 

“It certainly doesn’t look all that typically dwarven,” Carver said, after dropping his pack and looking around.

“Well, it’s the Carta that attacked, so it would make sense that it doesn’t look “typically dwarven.”  The Carta are thieves, smugglers, not architects,” Varric chided.  “It just makes this even more suspicious.  So, Hawke,” he said, turning to her.  “What’s the plan?”

“Oh, I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding,” she quipped, dropping her own pack and knuckling her back.  “We’ll all sit down for tea and have a good laugh over this.”

“Oh, your name is ‘Hawke’?  I thought it was ‘Locke’!” Varric chortled, and Hawke herself managed a weak laugh.

“Whatever happens,” Fenris growled, stepping up beside Hawke, “they won’t get a chance to attack again.”  She gave him a tight smile and touched the ribbon on his gauntlet; he did not quite meet her gaze, but his face softened slightly from its anger.

“I guess we’ll probably just have to go on in there,” she said, with a sigh.  “Still not quite sure where we are, though.  _Other_ than the obvious,” she said, shooting a look to Carver.  His imitation of wide-eyed innocence was not terribly effective.  She glanced up at the sky; it was past midday.  Shaking her head, she picked her pack back up and readjusted her staff its holster.  “Varric, do you want to take point, or shall I?”

“Let me,” he told her.  “I can keep an eye out for traps better that way.”

“Surely you’re not going to let Varric have _all_ the fun,” Isabela protested, and Hawke made a grand, sweeping gesture with her arms.

“Be my guest, ‘Bela.  Ladies first.”

“I thought so,” the pirate said, and sashayed forward to take point with Varric.

They trotted down a steep hill that was littered with debris of all kinds, sending tiny pebbles rolling down alongside them, and then walked, slowly, through what seemed like could have been a long archway tunnel, according to the ruins that were left.  Feeling uneasy, Hawke reached behind her and pulled the staff out of its holster, and saw the others begin pulling their weapons free as well.

“It’s the Hawke!” she heard a dwarven voice shout, and that made her start and grip her staff more tightly. 

“Looks like they’re aware we’re here,” Fenris said, voice low, as he turned his gaze from one side of the incline to the other.  “Best be on our guard.”

“As if we weren’t going to be?” Hawke said, but quietly.  Sometimes Fenris did not appreciate her snark, and as on edge as he was now, it was probably one of those times.

There weren’t any traps or surprises for a good half of a mile through the ruins, which seemed to empty out into a large, flat space with slight inclines on either side and a massive gate ahead of them.  Carta dwarves were stationed on each of the inclines, with one single dwarf standing in their path forward.

“The time has come!” the dwarf cried out, turning to those assembled behind him.  When he turned back to Hawke, she noticed his eyes looked odd, as if they had cataracts in them.  “You’re finally here!  You’ve come!”  The dwarf sounded ecstatic, and two other dwarves joined him.  “Everyone!  It’s the children of Malcolm Hawke!  Both of them!”

Carver turned and shared a startled look with Hawke, and she called out to the dwarf, “What does our father have to do with this?”

“It began with him,” the dwarf announced, and Hawke decided the dwarf had two modes: excited, and _very_ excited.  “And it ends with you!  Blood for blood, that’s what we were told!”

“You’re not making any sense,” Carver said to the dwarf.  “Whose blood do you want?”

“You’ve come to us now,” Insane Dwarf directed to Carver.  “And that’s the only thing that matters!”  He was only excited when he was talking to her brother, as opposed to very excited when talking to her.

“Did father cross the Carta somehow?” Carver asked Hawke, and she shrugged slightly.  None of this made any sort of sense to her at all.

“You tell me,” Hawke called to Insane Dwarf, “how I could refuse such a delightfully worded invitation?”

“We must have the blood,” was the reply, and now the dwarf sounded neither excited nor very excited.  “You don’t understand.”  He almost sounded apologetic.

“Right,” Hawke said.  “So much for polite conversation.”  She gripped her staff hard with both hands, and saw Merrill doing the same out of the corner of her eye.  Isabela had disappeared, obviously gone into stealth, and she was sure Fenris was behind her, blade at the ready. 

“We will take your blood,” the dwarf promised, stepping back.  The two other dwarves moved forward, steady and sure.  “Corypheus will walk in the sun once more!”

There were at least thirty dwarves for the seven of them to handle, and it was good that there were three mages, even if Hawke’s offensive magic wasn’t actually all that great.  The dwarves didn’t seem to work together when they were fighting, either, which made things slightly easier for their group.  Hawke was able to use her weak Force magic to pull smaller handfuls of the dwarves together and flatten them with her Fist of the Maker, and Fenris slipped naturally into their fighting groove, always headed for the conveniently-gathered enemies and swinging his great sword around as if it weighed nothing.

To her right, Merrill had a small contingent of the Carta encased in roots (it always amazed Hawke that should could call them up from nearly anywhere they were; _that_ was magical talent) and not going anywhere, while she had another two set on fire, and was bringing her fist down to call lightning down on a third group.  To her right, Anders was setting up barrier after barrier on the melee fighters, keeping the strikes that were coming towards them from knife and sword and axe from hitting as sharply.  Beside her, Varric stood with Bianca, taking aim and picking off, one at a time, the dwarves who were at the higher elevations on the inclines, although there weren’t many up there; most dwarves went for axes and daggers over bows.

She caught sight of Isabela taking a sharp stab behind a nearly-bare knee, and the pirate went down suddenly.  Gathering her mana, she ran towards her, trying to dodge around the insane dwarves who were basically slashing at anything that moved, even, apparently, themselves.  Isabela had fallen onto her uninjured knee, and Hawke managed to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, sending cool Healing flowing through her body, before skipping back.  Quick as a thought, ‘Bela was back on both feet and into the fray again, twirling a dagger in each hand and swiftly slipping into what shadows she could find.

Hawke’s heel caught on the end of her robe and she stumbled slightly, falling back herself and landing flat on her rear.  One of the Carta dwarves realized she was down, although he did not seem to realize she was uninjured, and swarmed her with a wicked looking two-headed axe, but Hawke managed to freeze him in place and then, suddenly as the dwarf appeared, his head was rolling away and his body crumpled to the ground.  Fenris pulled her to her feet, looking her over quickly, and Hawke took the opportunity to send a Rejuvenation spell through him.  He smirked slightly in thanks and then stood in front of her, shielding her against any more stray dwarves before she pushed him slightly and told him to get back in there, assuring him that she was fine, she only tripped.

By the time the fight was done, the movement of the sun indicated a good half hour had passed, and there wasn’t a one of them that didn’t have bloodsplatters on them.  Merrill was complaining about dwarf in her hair, as she had let one get a little too close to her once she had set it with a walking bomb and it detonated, and Carver was whining that his armor was going to wind up rusting because of the oddly-colored dwarf blood.

That made all of them curious, and they gathered ‘round him, Varric taking a closer look at the blood.  “That’s… dwarf blood is supposed to be red.  And smell just like human blood.  This stuff… stinks.”

“It smells like the Deep Roads,” Hawke said, ominously.

“Do these dwarfs have the Blight, then?” Carver asked, attempting to hold the armor out and away from him to a most comedic effect.

“Anders, do you remember an entrance to the Deep Roads around here anywhere?”

“No,” he answered, sounding surprised.  “I don’t remember the maps having anything like one around here.  They were closer to Kirkwall than this.”

“So, now we’re dealing with Blighted Carta dwarves,” Varric said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 

“We should move on,” Fenris said, as Isabela and Merrill busied themselves looting what they could find from the bodies.  Isabela cooed over some bauble and Merrill busily tucked healing potions and stamina droughts away.  The gate was locked, but Isabela’s rummaging had managed to find a key to fit in, and soon they were filing through, the two rogues on point again, Carver after, the three mages clustered together, and Fenris trailing behind, since his ears were more sensitive and he could bear the brunt of an attack better than any of the three mages could.

Before they were all through the gate, however, Varric was falling back and crossbow bolts were flying.  “A bronto!” he shouted to Hawke, as Carver rushed forward and the other two mages spread apart to flank the thing.  “Armed for sodding battle!”  More dwarves appeared on high, wooden barricades around them, and Fenris rushed forward to take the bronto alongside Carver while the mages and Varric focused on getting the archers who were firing on them.  Hawke was unsure of exactly where Isabela was, the woman having the ability to move quickly through battle and appear most anywhere before you could blink (thus making her extremely difficult to track and, if she were honest with herself, difficult to keep Healed) but she knew Isabela was smart enough to drop back in case she needed Healing.  

The dwarves barely numbered a dozen, this time, and were easily picked off at a distance by Hawke and crew, while the single bronto was easier to take down than Varric had made out, especially for Fenris, who was incredibly fast, and Carver, who was incredibly strong.  Fenris made his way back to Hawke after the short battle was completed, using a torn piece of cloth from the bronto’s armor to wipe away its blood from his blade.

“Clearly these dwarves are insane,” he said, the scowl audible in his voice.  “Perhaps even moreso than Varric.”

“I heard that,” Varric noted.  “The Carta doesn’t normally act like this.  They’re businessmen.”

“I’d like to know who this Corypheus is,” Hawke said, eyeing the lyrium potion in her hand before deciding to shove it back in with the rest of her supply.  She would need to wait for her mana to refresh naturally; if this was going to be nonstop fighting, she couldn’t afford to waste any of the potions, and who knew when she would be able to restock, or Anders, or Merrill?  Fenris caught the motion and glanced at her face, concern etched on his features.  She waved him off and his brows drew down in a scowl, before he looked pointedly over at Varric.  Apparently, the dwarf had caught the activity, too.

“Mages need rest,” he announced, and Hawke did not try to suppress the sigh on her lips. 

“I’m fine,” Anders said, honest confusion in his voice. 

“I think he means Hawke,” Merrill said to him, already looking for a place to situate herself that might be out of the broiling sun.  “I don’t need a rest, either, really, but who knows how much more fighting we’ll have to do, and we can’t waste lyrium potions.”  Hawke’s brows arched.  Merrill was _always_ so much smarter than anyone gave her credit for, unless it had to do with that stupid mirror. 

“Well, excuse my small mana pool,” she muttered, walking up to one of the high, wooden walls and flopping down next to it.  It made adequate shade, and she took the opportunity to pull out her waterskin.  Empty, but a touch of ice inside mixed with a touch of fire and she soon had it full again, with the water as cool as she wanted it to be.  Fenris noted this activity, too, and gave her a pointed look and a disapproving shake of his head.

* * *

 

It _was_ nice to rest, and Hawke was glad that Varric had brought it up, even if she didn’t like the feeling that she was being coddled.  If nothing else, the pack was getting heavy, and fighting with it on was not something that she, as a mage, was used to doing.  It took enough energy to wield her mana and make it do as she wanted it to do without adding a pack that weighed more than ten pounds on her back to the equation.  By the time she had finished the cool water in the waterskin, however, Hawke was feeling restless and ready to move on.  One thing the action that they had seen since arriving… wherever this was… had accomplished was that Hawke hadn’t had time to think of Bethy, and of when they would be back.  They were already behind schedule as it was, and there was no telling how the rest of their time here was going to go.  She looked up and was surprised to see Fenris watching her with those “sad puppy eyes,” as Merrill called them.  Perhaps he was thinking the same thing? 

He came and knelt down beside her, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers for a moment.  “We will be back sooner than you think,” he promised, and she felt absurdly grateful that he was giving her this comfort, unasked-for.  She risked tilting her face slightly to touch her lips to his, and was pleasantly surprised at how forceful he was in kissing her back.  His hands came to rest on her shoulders and his lips parted slightly as he leaned in against her a little bit more.

A gentle cough made her open her eyes suddenly and jerk back, and she heard Fenris sigh, obviously in irritation.  Hawke looked up and Varric was standing there, smug, knowing grin on his face.  Fenris glanced over at him and cursed softly, then stood and stalked away, like a cat lashing its tail.  Varric chuckled and then his face seemed to lose mirth.

“Apparently, this place had stood for ages.  Literally Ages, Hawke.  There are a couple of monument markers that talk about some ‘Amgeform’ something.  This is dwarven made, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“A dwarven prison?” Fenris asked, walking back towards them slowly.

“Dwarves don’t make prisons, elf.  This is a trash heap.  They left something here because they didn’t want it to be found again, not because they were punishing it.”  Fenris grunted, although he didn’t sound surprised or irritated, and Hawke stood up and dusted off her bottom and where the dirt had gotten all over her robe. 

“So maybe this Corypheus is a demon,” Hawke suggested.

“Don’t let the blood mage near it,” Fenris growled, leaning up against the wooden wall. 

“Play nice,” she warned, but there was no heat in it.  “But a demon is the only thing I can think of that even dwarves would want to lock away.  Although it doesn’t make sense that we’d find Carta dwarves out here who want mine and Carver’s blood specifically.  Now that I’m thinking on it, I’m pretty sure they weren’t even after Bethy.  They might not even have known about her, everything considered.  If they’re wanting _our_ blood, they have no need of an adopted child.”

“That is a relief,” Fenris said.  “Although not that they would want your blood.”

“Demons and blood and the Carta.”  Varric shook his head.  “None of this makes any sense.”

“We probably won’t find out more until we find this ‘Corypheus,’ especially if he’s the demon they’re talking about.”  Hawke kept her staff out of its holster, frowning at it slightly.  “We’d probably all better keep our weapons at the ready.  I don’t think we’re going to get out of this without pretty constant fighting.”

“You’re always such a good source of optimism,” Varric grumbled.

Apparently this gate, too, needed a key, and they wound up having to loot bodies.  In looting bodies, they also found a few crates that had some supplies in them, although not a lot of supplies, which Hawke was incredibly grateful for.  That first fight with all those dwarves had been massive, and they had gone through several of their healing potions.  Although she was fairly certain they wouldn’t find anything in the way of lyrium potions around, at least healing potions were _something_.

It was a good thing that the rogues were leading the way this time, because there were several rather nasty traps that seemed to lead to another enclosed area, and this time there were two large, angry brontos who were waiting for them.  Hawke sighed and prepared her staff, readying an ice spell for one bronto, hopefully to keep it still, and a fire spell for the other bronto, hopefully to panic it.  Fenris ghosted past her, his lyrium activating to turn him into a glowy, blue-white figure moving back and forth across the battlefield between the two huge animals. 

Carver launched himself forward, his attention focused on the larger of the two, and Isabela disappeared again, only to reappear at the most surprising moment.  It usually worked better on non-animals, of course, but even she was able to deal massive amounts of damage and hinder the two creatures.  Anders seemed to be focusing mainly on keeping barriers up on the two warriors, while Merrill distracted by something to their right.  When Hawke glanced that way, she noticed that they were being attacked by _another_ large group of dwarves, probably a dozen, from that direction.  She sighed and used a Pull of the Abyss to knock all of their damned heads together before darting forward to catch them all in a Cone of Cold.  They froze there and she nodded to Merrill, who took the opportunity to abuse the stupid dwarves further, while they were immobile. 

That was when Hawke noticed the third threat, which was another group of dwarves coming from the left of where they had been, out of some sort of structures.  Storage rooms, perhaps?  It didn’t truly matter; all that mattered was that they were attacking, and she seemed to be the first one to notice them.  Varric was apparently the second, as the same time Hawke was directing small bursts of energy from her staff in their general direction, a hail of arrows fell onto the unfortunate, yet stupid souls. 

One bronto was down, and the other one was seriously injured.  About half of the first group of dwarves was dead, but a bare fifth of the second group, and it was obvious that everyone was tiring greatly.  Hawke knew she was, even with the short break she had been given; perhaps her mana hadn’t replenished as far as she had believed, she thought to herself, as she was relying more and more on energy channeled through her staff as opposed to actual spells she knew how to cast. 

Somehow Fenris was brought down by the bronto, but Anders seemed to catch it before Hawke did and he was quickly standing again, wiping away sweat from his brow and charging forward as if he didn’t just take a severe hit.  Hawke added her own barrier to the one that Anders was surely casting, and was torn between the two groups of dwarves.  Merrill seemed to have the first well in hand, though, so she turned her attention back to the second group, taking a deep breath before calling chain lightning from the sky down to strike each of them.  It was a spell she did not use often, because of how much it took out of her, but when she did use it, it seemed extra strong and effective.  Hawke knew that they needed “strong and effective” right then. 

She moved forward, getting more into the fray and laying out with her staff, using the blade-end of the thing to cut dwarves where she could, as a substitute for her actual magic, and using the blunt end of it to hit against heads and trip feet whenever and wherever possible.  This wasn’t the pretty staff she preferred; it wasn’t as strong, magically, for one thing, but it passed for something other than a staff, most of the time, and she thanked the foresight that had her bring it along rather than the other one.  This way, being low on her mana as she was, coupled by the exhaustion that went with it, she was able to use the thing as a polearm, and swing it she was doing.

By the time they were done, Hawke was absolutely covered in blood and viscera, with her hair drying a sticky matte and unmentionable smears staining her robes.  She had taken several injures, as well, and had little mana left to Heal them.  Logic dictated that it was time for another rest, certainly, but she wasn’t going to just sit there and wait for the mana to come back.  A small room directly off to the left from the gate where they had originally come in had supplies, and she led a small raid to gather as many of the supplies as she could carry.  To Hawke’s delight, there was a single lyrium potion amongst the goods, and she sighed in relief as she downed it.  They needed to reserve as much of their lyrium as possible, but certainly that lyrium potion could do nothing but good.

It _was_ good that she had, in fact, because when they drifted down the stairs that were to the right of their entrance, they ran into another large contingent of the damnable insane dwarves.  None of the mages had had time to truly refill their mana pools, though, and everyone was quite touchy and tired, so it was little surprise when first Anders, then Hawke and Merrill, channeled huge gouts of flame that consumed the unfortunate dwarves.  Varric stood back, picking them off one by one, and the three melee fighters maintained a respectful distance from the dwarves that were suddenly screaming in pain and horror, the smell of charred flesh rising into the air and smoke curling upwards in twisting waves.

She turned, nearly apologetically, to Fenris, who had his brows raised at the spectacle.  “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Do not be sorry,” he told her, although he was clearly uncomfortable with the display.  “It was us or them, and you three have expended a lot of mana today.  And you are not the only ones who are tired,” he confessed, as close as he was going to get to an outright declaration that the fighting had taken as much out of him as it had the mages.  They had surely done more fighting in a single day on the Coast, but not in such numbers, and not against foes as well-armed and trained as these dwarves seemed to be.

The left side was still relatively unexplored, and Hawke was reticent about its exploration until she realized it was simply a couple of larger storage rooms.  With a relieved sigh, she led the others to go through the things, pocketing some trinkets and some potions, as well as some actual gold and silver to line their purses.  That would help them tremendously on the way back, she knew, for they had used a surprising amount just _getting_ here; none of them expected a bed in a hayloft to cost quite so much money, even for a larger group, nor the food to be so exorbitantly high.

Hawke led the way out of the second room, the one on the upper level, and walked straight into an arrow in her stomach.

She fell to her knees, grabbing for the protruding wood, her eyes wide and a gasp escaping her lips.  Fenris didn’t even bother going to her, instead rushing to the line of over a dozen dwarves who were blocking the entrance to the big, flat area outside. 

Her hand came away bloody, and Hawke fell forward, sprawled in the dirt, the arrow pushing in even further.  Vaguely, she heard someone shout her name, her given name, and she felt someone picking her up and dragging her away.  There was a cacophony of voices, urgent and hurried, and she was dumped unceremoniously somewhere with a wooden floor.  Anders’s face loomed over her and she blinked, then tried to reach for him with bloodied fingers.

His Healing hit her like a splash of icy water on naked flesh.  She gasped again, her back bowing, arms and legs flailing and her eyes going wide.  Hawke scrabbled for purchase, managing to find Anders’s robes and pull herself against him, voice echoing in the wooden room in a sob.  He held her, making soft shushing sounds.  She wasn’t dead.  She _wasn’t_ dead.

“Hawke,” she heard Fenris say, and then he was behind her and pressing her, inadvertently, against Anders, hugging her as tightly as he could.  She could feel him pressing kisses all over the back of her head, and she turned slightly so those kisses pressed against her face instead.

“I’m okay,” she said, and it was as much truth as she could manage at that moment.  “Did the arrow…?”

“I pushed it the rest of the way out,” Anders told her, as Fenris gathered Hawke into his arms, his eyes shining and concerned.

“The dwarves…?”

“Dead,” Anders told her.  “You blacked out for a little while.  Fenris… slaughtered them all.”

“Fenris,” she whispered, and smeared bloody fingertips on his cheek.  He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm, then pulled her against him hungrily, pressing his lips roughly against hers.  Hawke slid her arms over his shoulders and Fenris pushed his tongue between her lips, his gauntleted fingers digging into her back.  Hawke shifted slightly, pressing herself against him, but found herself pressed back down against the dirty wooden floor instead.

“I don’t think she’s quite up for that right now” Anders said, disapprovingly.

“Leave us, mage,” Fenris snarled, and she heard Anders sigh deeply and the door to the little room slam behind them as Fenris nearly tore the skirts of her robe in his eagerness to get them up around her waist.  He _did_ tear her smalls off of her, leaving scratches from the gauntlets, his mouth and teeth finding every inch of her sweaty, blood-stained skin that wasn’t covered, from her shoulders up.

Hawke met him kiss-for-kiss, each time his lips came back to her mouth, and she inhaled sharply when the biting, bloody cold of the steel gauntlets scraped against her tender inner thigh.  Fenris didn’t apologize, however, simply pulled her thighs apart, and then scrabbled his fingers at his belt, and then laces of his pants.  He was inside of her before she was fully prepared, his forehead pressed against hers, breathing heavy. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, digging his fingers into one shoulder as he thrust inside of her.  Hawke slid one of her legs around his back, pulling him close, and tilted her head back to give him better access to her throat when he moved his mouth back down, nipping against her pale skin sharply.  Her other leg bent up at the knee, and she hooked it around the back of his leg, giving herself more purchase to angle her hips up to meet him.  She was alive.  She was _alive_ , when she thought she was going to die, and Fenris was alive, and…

Hawke sobbed softly, just once, pressing her lips against his ear before she bit the lobe roughly and caressed her lips over the shell of it up to the tip.  Fenris growled and pulled her up to him, pulling out of her and helping her get to her feet long enough to push Hawke up against the wall, using one metal-clad hand to pull the robes back up, using the other one to lift her up so he could enter her again.  Hawke appreciated the support of the wooden wall against her back and kept her arms around him, digging short nails into the bare strip of flesh that was exposed by his tunic and armor down his back. 

His arm dropped back down to help support her bottom, and Hawke wrapped her legs around his waist before bringing one hand up to tangle in his hair.  She pulled his head back slightly and captured his lips in a rough kiss, and then Fenris was kissing her back, thrusting into her and pushing her back against the wall over and over. 

Her breathing was labored, partly due to the activity itself but partly due to the injury she sustained, and he broke the kiss to press his face against the crook of her neck.  Hawke could hear his own labored breathing, and then his breath hitched and his hips stuttered in the rhythm they had picked up.  Fenris’s hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his face, and she was sweating through her robes, the material sticking to her skin in an uncomfortable way.

Then Fenris was biting down onto her shoulder, pulling her down against him and groaning as he released inside of her.  She could feel his fingers digging into the bare flesh of thigh and bottom, the sharp gauntlet tips scratching enough that they might possibly be drawing blood.  He shuddered and moved his bite to her throat, pushing up into her again, pushing her against the wall as he did so.

“Hawke,” he moaned, and then he nearly dropped her, instead collapsing onto the floor with her in an inelegant heap.  She made a surprised sound as they tumbled down, but she was unhurt, or at least, unhurt any further, so far as she could tell, and Fenris seemed exhausted, clinging to her and taking deep breaths of air, his face buried against her neck as it was.

“Fenris, are you okay?” she asked, after a few moments when neither of them moved, and she heard him sigh heavily and tighten his grip against her.

“I… I thought you were _dead_ ,” he said, his voice pained.  “I… the arrow… and Anders…”  His voice hitched and he bit her shoulder again.  “There was a moment… Don’t do that again,” he pleaded, drawing her against him tightly and rubbing his lips over where he had bitten only a moment before.  “You are _mine_ , Hawke, and you cannot die on some Carta dwarf’s ill-timed arrow.  _Fasta vass_ ,” he cursed, trying to untangle himself from her to settle himself back in his leggings.

“I guess there are worse ways of showing affection,” Hawke quipped, eyeing the torn and discarded smalls, and then the bloody state of both them and their clothes.  “But perhaps we can wait until we have a proper bed next time.  Or at least aren’t quite so bloody.  Maker,” she finished, more a sigh than any sort of chiding declaration.

“I apologize,” he said, and he truly did sound contrite.  “I… got carried away.”  His head was tilted down again, the bangs hiding his eyes.

“No real harm done,” she told him.  “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to rest us some before we head into that place.”

“I’m sure Varric already has a plan for the night,” Fenris assured her, and then raised his head enough to gaze into her eyes before capturing her lips in another kiss.  “Don’t… don’t do that to me, Hawke,” he said, his voice sounding a little bit stronger.  “I couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to you.  And neither could Bethy.”

“Bethy,” she murmured.  In the excitement, she had forgotten about her daughter, and guilt shot through her as hotly as that arrow had.

“I... did Anders Heal you sufficiently?” Fenris asked, running the bare palms of his hands over her shoulders and trying to not touch her with the metal parts.

“Not really.  It was field Healing.  I’m going to need that rest sooner rather than later.”

“Marian, I apologize.  I should have… I am so _sorry_ , Marian,” Fenris said, and all she could do was shake her head.  He wanted to feel contrite, and nothing she could say or do would stop it. 

“How about you go get Anders again?  He’s had a few minutes to rest his mana.  I’m afraid mine’s just too tapped out from all the excitement to be any good right now.  And you can let Carver know that his sister’s going to be okay.  Maker, if you got another child on me…” she slapped him across the chest and scowled slightly.  “You’re supposed to be more careful than that.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he said again, and she sighed and rested her head against his chest for a moment.

“Don’t mind me,” she said, once she straightened back up.  “Find my pack, too.  These robes are going to have to be cleaned and probably mended before I can wear them again.”  She fingered the hole the arrow made when it went into her stomach with a frown.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Fenris promised her, and Hawke scooted back until she was leaned against the wall again.  Bless Fenris, but he never had been able to handle some of her closer calls very well.

Before too many minutes had passed, and before she had time to return to guilty thoughts about her daughter, or to worry that another fight was upon them, Anders came back into the little room, frowning at her disapprovingly.

“Hawke, I can’t say it’s very good for you to be having sex so soon after such a serious wound,” he told her.

“It wasn’t exactly my idea,” she protested.

“But you didn’t do anything to discourage it,” Anders countered.

“I didn’t,” she agreed, and tilted her head back against the wall again.

“Are these… are these your smallclothes, Hawke?” he asked, toeing the scrap of fabric that was on the floor. 

“Um, they might have been,” she said, and bit her bottom lip.

“Maker’s breath.  How can you stand an animal like that?”

“Anders, that’s not very nice,” she scolded.  “Fenris saved our lives just now.”

“Seems like the only ‘life-saving’ that was going on was me saving yours,” he said, with a scowl.  “But I’ll lay off him for the time being.”

“I’d appreciate it,” she said, honestly.  “Because it doesn’t look like things are going to get any easier for the foreseeable future and it would be best if we all pretended to get along.”

“Next time you take a life-threatening injury, though, I’d appreciate it if you made him lay off you for a few minutes, until I’ve seen to properly Healing you.”

“Yes, Healer,” she said, adding just the slightest touch of sarcasm to the tone.  The flat look he gave her told her that she had succeeded and it wasn’t appreciated.  Hawke did not feel smug about it, however.

Carver followed, a few minutes later, running his eyes over her as if he didn’t quite believe either Anders or Fenris that she was alive and relatively well.  “That was a nasty arrow you took,” he told her, accusingly, and Hawke scowled at him in response.

“I’ll make sure to make it a nicer one, next time,” she retorted.

“You’ll do no such thing.  You mages need to let us armored folk go first,” he said, addressing Anders, too, apparently.  “Those robes give you nearly no protection against things like that.  At least our armor can shield us some.”

“But you’re shit at detecting traps, Carver.”  When her brother looked like he was about to argue, Hawke held up a hand to forestall him.  “I take your point, and I concede it.  I will not be going first for the foreseeable future.”

“That easy?” he asked, amazed.

“That easy,” she agreed. 

“I expected an argument,” he confessed.

“Well, I _could_ just go first and then let Fenris have me up against the wall every time,” she told him, mischief glinting in her eyes.

“Not sleeping in here,” Carver announced, tossing his hands up and walking out.  Anders rolled his eyes at both of them before handing over the healing potion he had pulled out of his pack for her.

“Here.  It’ll help you Heal faster.  I don’t have much mana left, and Merrill is right shit at Healing, and I know you’re out of mana, too.  You’ll need rest and more Healing before we can go into… whatever this place is.  And that won’t even happen until the morning.”  He gave her a stern look.  “Healer’s orders.  I’ll tell Fenris to keep you here if I have to.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” she said, sharply.  “I’ll take the potion and the rest without argument.”  With that, she pulled out the cork and downed the sharply-tasting, red potion, making the customary face as she did so.

“So long as I don’t have to,” Anders said, nodding.

The rest of the fading daylight was spent with all of them cleaning up as best possible.  Hawke, Anders, and Merrill were able to use a bit of ice and a bit of fire to create makeshift buckets of water out of the large crates that were in both of the storage rooms, turning one of them into a sort of bathing chamber that allowed all of them to do much-needed washing up.  She also cheated, just a little bit, and used some of her magic to clean the old robe before the blood, dirt, and general yuck stained it too badly.

She changed into her other robe, glad to get the bloody, torn thing off of her, and used her little emergency sewing kit to patch the tear left by the arrow.  The entire time, she could feel her mana replenishing itself, and the slight exhaustion she had felt for running it into the ground as thoroughly as she did was ebbing, too.  Of course, the exhaustion from the fighting would take a little bit longer and more _actual_ rest before it ebbed, and the Healing itself would take a little bit more out of her, considering it was little more than quick, low-cost and patchy field-Healing, for neither she nor Anders could afford to do much more than that.  However, between the resting she did while sewing, the hot meal that they managed to cook, the warm water she had for washing up, and the general down time of activity (and the lack of further attacks), Hawke was relatively well-rested by the time the sun was completely down, well enough to help provide them with mage lights peppered in either of the two storage rooms. 

Two people at a time were on watch again, with overlapping watches, but Hawke, due to her injury, got to avoid watch again.  When she insisted that she was Healed enough to take one watch, Fenris snarled at her that she was too injured and Anders threatened to sit on her if she didn’t stay lying down, the two glancing at each other in surprise at their rare agreement.  Hawke decided that if the two of them were able to agree on something, she should probably go by the general consensus, and bedded down, although the floor was filthy and the wooden planks were rough, her only padding between herself and the floor being her single, thin blanket. 

She woke several times during the night, most notably when the watch changed and when Fenris lay down beside her, an arm curling around her waist, his chin resting on top of her head.  He smelled like blood and sweat still, like he had recently been fighting, and she hoped it hadn’t been _too_ recently, that it was left over from their earlier battles, because she hadn’t woken up to the sounds of conflict and she would hate to think she was so far gone that a fight wouldn’t wake her.  He noticed her waking and brushed a kiss atop her hair, simply telling her to go back to sleep.  And so she did, hoping that the next day would see an end to this, and a beginning of heading back to Kirkwall so that they could be back in their home, with their daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I prefer my chapters being over 7000 words. Those 4000-something word chapters feel too short, like I'm cheating everyone. But like my husband has told me, I'm not on twitter because I can't say "hello" with less than 140 characters.


	19. The Sunny Vinmarks - If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home By Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is tired of wherever they are, and Varric has to make a hard decision.
> 
> Guest starring Insane Dwarf 2!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of canon-typical violence and description of blood and yuck. Adult situations are discussed. Really, if you're reading this fic in general, you should just be Of Age for where you live because it's totes adult, y'all.

It was not even noon, yet sweat and blood soaked through Hawke’s robes, matted her long, dark hair to her face, stuck it to the back of her neck.  It rolled off her cheeks in rivulets, and it was all she could do to keep wiping it off with the ridiculously grimy sleeve of her outer robe as she pivoted around, flinging what spells she could afford, using her staff as a polearm for the Carta dwarves who got too close to either her or Varric.

Rising fairly early, before the sun itself was above the horizon, had seemed like an excellent idea at the time.  It gave them all the opportunity to break their fast and re-distribute potions, as well as take stock of what they did actually have on them.  It was the perfect opportunity to discuss strategy, too, based on their experience from the previous day.  By the time they were ready to set out again, the rogues had done a little bit of scouting, to make sure they wouldn’t be attacked immediately, and everyone felt relatively confident in going ahead.

"Going ahead" was a term which, here, meant "fighting pretty much nonstop" as they tried to make their way into the large, creepy fortress that was before them.  Hawke wondered, out loud, how on earth the mad Carta dwarves were able to avoid the damned traps that lay everywhere, because the second time she was caught in a leghold trap because the rogues were too busy fighting off vanguard attacks to catch every one of them, she was lucky that her entire leg didn’t snap off.  Hawke went down with a scream of pain, falling onto the knee of the injured leg with an extra jolt and catching herself so badly on the rubble-strewn ground that she tore up her hands in the process.

Carver was, luckily, close enough that he managed to get to her side quickly and pull apart the trap while Hawke yanked her leg from the thing, scrabbling backwards on hands and rear away from it before she dared to cast a Healing on herself.  The injury had been severe, however, and field Healing did little but staunch the bleeding and cut most of the pain out.  That she was having to direct more Healing towards her brother and Fenris both meant Hawke needed to stay closer to them, and she managed to do so only by limping heavily and directing Healing at herself whenever she wasn’t having to uphold barriers on them, or direct a cool wave of Healing either of their ways.

Hours’ worth of pushing forward had finally netted them control of the inside of some building.  There were crates there, and what looked like mining gear, along with more Carta dwarves.  Fortunately, it seemed like, for the time being, the dwarves had decided to back off.  Or perhaps it was simply a case of the dwarves were running out, and had fallen back to defend what was further in.  This Corypheus, perhaps?  But Hawke was grateful for the rest, as her mana was completely depleted again.  They managed to bunker down in a room that had some sort of basement leading down to it, and a doorway that would be easy enough to defend.  Hawke collapsed down there, choosing to just lay flat on her back and stare up at the wooden ceiling, breathing heavily and trying to not feel too grossed out at the blood and sweat that was matting her hair and sticking to her flesh.

Fenris settled down beside her, leaning back to be braced up by the wall.  “Thank you for bringing me along,” he said to Hawke, reaching out and brushing a sweaty strand of hair from her face.

“Why wouldn’t I?  The more the merrier.”  Besides, there was no way Fenris was going to be left behind on this venture.

“I am just… pleased to see you.  That’s all.”  If he thought himself speaking too low for anyone else to hear, he was sadly mistaken.

“Smooth,” Varric said, with a cackle, and Anders joined in the laughter as well.

“Oh, Fenris,” Isabela said, fondly.

Merrill piped up, looking down from the railing.  “I think it’s sweet.”

“What’s sweet?” Carver asked, joining her there.

“Fenris loves Hawke, of course,” Merrill informed him, and Carver rolled his eyes.  Hawke tilted her head slightly to take in Fenris’s expression, but his eyes were closed and he had a hand half over his face, shaking his head slightly.  She chuckled and patted him on the hand that still rested on her hair.  Fenris moved his hand slightly and looked at her, then managed one of his rare little half-smirks.  He had come a long way from being shy and reticent about such matters.

“You should try to rest,” he told her, in a voice that was, apparently, much lower than his previous tone, as everyone else had seemed to start going about their business.  Hawke scooted until she was resting her head on his lap, and Fenris did not object to this.  Indeed, he seemed to welcome it, and not mind the fact that she was getting sweat and blood all over his leather leggings.  If the situation were reversed, she would at least have made a token gesture of objection. 

“I _am_ trying to rest,” she promised, sighing deeply.  “It’s sort of hard to relax when I’m pretty sure we’re going to be attacked again at any moment.”

“Do you feel better about leaving Bethy behind now?” Fenris asked her, carding fingers that were surprisingly gauntlet-free through her hair.  She closed her eyes at the sensation. 

“I don’t feel as bad, but I’m not sure you can classify that as feeling _better_ ,” she admitted.

“I understand what you mean,” he told her, gravely.  “But knowing they were looking for you and Carver means they are less likely to pursue her.” She squeezed his arm, gently, appreciative of the attempted comforting.

“I’ll be happy when we’re done with this so that we can hit that little tavern up that was in that last village,” she confessed, trying to change the subject.  “I could use an actual bath.”

“This has certainly not been a picturesque escape into the mountains,” Fenris agreed.  The feel of his hand stroking her hair was amazing, and she found her eyes wanting to close, her breathing evening out and going softer.

Hawke awoke with a start, causing Fenris to shush her softly.  She looked around, concerned, but all she saw were the others, in various states of relaxation or watch duty.  Blinking gritty eyes, she turned on her elbow and looked towards Fenris, who seemed content to have her lay where she was.

“How long was I asleep?”

“About an hour,” he told her.  “You can go back to sleep if you wish.  We will be here for a little while longer.  Anders Healed you again, while you were sleeping, so your legs should be back to normal now.  Do they hurt?”

“No,” she confessed to him, sitting up and shaking her head slightly to clear it.  “And my mana has replenished already.”

“We gave you extra lyrium while you were sleeping,” Fenris said.  “Anders thought it might help speed up the process.”

“Look who’s awake,” Carver called over, using his “inside voice,” which was only slightly softer than his regular voice.  “Did you have a nice nap while the rest of us watched over you, sister?”

She made a face at him before sticking out her tongue.  “Maker, Carver, it’s not like you don’t need to rest every now and then.”

“I’m not stupid enough to go and step in two traps,” he told her.

“Oh, there was that one time, on Sundermount?  You stepped in five,” Merrill told him, smiling prettily, and Hawke chortled.  Carver scowled at her first, and then Merrill.  The two of them were sitting rather close together, and Hawke wondered if they had discussed their little crushes on each other yet.  She vowed to get Merrill alone sometime and bring it up.  Of course, that assumed that they were able to get out of this madhouse in one piece.

“You should try to rest again,” Fenris said to her, trying to press her back down so she was resting against him again.

“I think I’d rather eat something,” she told him.  “Do any of us happen to have anything decent on them in the way of food?”

“Jerky,” Fenris said.  “Probably some hardtack.” She sighed at that: travel rations.  The last resort they might have for a while, unless they managed to catch some nugs here, or found some mushrooms or edible plants.  Considering it was nearly a desert wasteland by this point, she was doubtful they would find much in the way of plants.  Now she felt regret for wishing they were out of those damned wooded mountains more quickly than they had been.

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to go hungry,” she said, sadly.  “We still don’t know how long we’re going to be here.”

“We do not know if those dwarves had supplies of food here, either,” Fenris pointed out.  “We may simply have not gotten to them yet. Even dwarves have to eat, and I’ve rarely known one to not spend half his time drinking, if possible.”

“I heard that,” Varric called.

“Is it untrue?” Fenris asked, raising his voice.

Varric paused for a moment, then said, “Eh.  Not really.”  Fenris shared a smirk with Hawke. 

“Well, we can’t rely on finding food stores, and we need to plan on being in here for at least another few days.  Until we can scrounge up something else, I’ll just skip it for now.”

“Your mana is fully recovered?”

“It’s recovered enough,” she promised.  “Especially if we’re not going anywhere for another hour or so.  Maker, don’t tell me we’re going to wind up going underground.  Is it underground?” Hawke asked, concerned.  Underground would make it a lot harder for them to find food; at least fresh water was always available, thanks to their magic. 

“All signs point to underground,” Anders said, from where he was sitting on the stairs leading back up to the floor with the railing.  It wasn’t more than twelve or fifteen feet above the little room they were resting in, but it was enough higher up that if the insane dwarves came back, they could box the group in easily by taking the higher, more well-fortified ground.

“You two really know how to turn a girl on,” Hawke huffed, and stood up, brushing whatever debris she could off her robes.  It seemed like the floor was covered by a mixture of sawdust and straw, and she felt even more of a mess than before, especially since none of it seemed particularly clean.  “I know we should probably rest some more, since we have the opportunity, but we should _also_ probably move on,” she announced, shoulders drooping somewhat.

“Maker, Hawke, don’t be a slave driver,” ‘Bela groaned, and she noticed the woman had settled into a ratty chair that was dragged into the corner.

“Sorry, ‘Bela, but the sooner we’re done with this bullshit, the sooner we can get to an inn and some ale.”  Isabela sat up immediately and grinned.

“Why didn’t you say so, sweet thing?  You’re buying, I trust?”

“Don’t I always?”

There was no small amount of grumbling as everyone gathered their things and worked out kinks that had settled in from more than an hour of rest after so many hours of fighting, but, weary sighs aside, Hawke made her way up the stairs before letting the two rogues take point.

* * *

 

What came next seemed like endless room after endless room full of handfuls of dwarves who were ready for Hawke and crew to kill them. There were several unopened chests and crates that they passed, as well as stacks of what looked like letters, or missives, and Hawke was determined to come back and check those out, if they managed to get a break from killing dwarves.

It had to have been a good two hours of fighting before they _managed_ another break.  By that time they were all truly exhausted, the melee fighters in as bad a shape as the mages in terms of exhaustion, and the dwarves had, again, disappeared.  Hawke wondered if they had all been cleared out and was starting to go forward to find more when Fenris grabbed her elbow to stop her.

“We need rest, Hawke,” he said, tone flat but tired.

“Hawke, I can’t go on like this, and I know that means you can’t, either,” Anders said.  Merrill simply stared at her, eyes looking shadowed and face abnormally pale.

“C’mon, sweet thing,” Isabela said, grabbing her other arm and dragging her back.  “We passed some storage rooms, and we can loot all that fun stuff we saw.  Walking around and not killing things is better than trudging forward and just taking more injuries, now, isn’t it?”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Hawke told her.  She really wanted little more than to be out of there, at that moment, but… 

There were a series of doors on one side of the mining-shaft like hallways, and Varric and Isabela worked together to pick the locks on the doors while Hawke led Merrill in looting the bodies.  Apparently, Carver was more exhausted than he had been letting on, as he found a corner and collapsed in it, nodding off nearly immediately after eating one of the hardtack biscuits that was in his pack, and drinking some of the refreshed water.  Anders was seeing to Fenris, which the elf certainly wasn’t happy about, but was, at least, appreciative of. 

“Maker’s breath, Hawke, you should look at this!” Isabela cried, sounding as excited about something as Hawke had ever heard her.  She found out the reason why easily enough; the three rooms were stocked, absolutely _stocked_ , with gold, health potions, stamina droughts, and travel rations.  There was even a very small cask of what had to be some piss-poor and hot wine. 

“We’re going to be eating like kings tonight, everyone,” Hawke said, cheered immeasurably by their find.

Unfortunately, the papers that they ran across were not as cheering.

One of them was some sort of leaflet that reminded her very much of the earliest copies of Anders’s manifesto.  It praised this Corypheus, but all of them standing around and trying to put their heads together did nothing to further enlighten anyone on who, or _what_ this Corypheus fellow _was_.

A different letter, on the other hand, certainly did.

“Listen to this,” Hawke said, after scanning over it several times.  “’The Wardens did not guard the key with care. It was left in a repository, with objects of little worth. Trinkets. Dusty Grey Warden trophies. Not even a guard posted. Fools. If only they knew what they had, and had lost.  It will not wake at my touch; it sleeps and its power remains within. The Great One says it requires Malcolm Hawke's blood to awaken it. Only then can its powers set him free.  I will find the heir to the blood and the Great One will reward me. Yes. Let it be soon.”  She stopped reading and glanced at Carver, who looked angrily surprised. 

“That sounds like blood magic,” Carver said, and he sounded very much as if he didn’t want to believe it.  Hawke didn’t blame him; _she_ certainly did not want to believe that her father had been involved in any such thing.

“A key attuned to blood,” Anders said, holding his hand out for the torn paper.  Hawke handed it over as if getting rid of the thing would take the words back.  “Hawke,” he continued, gently.  “If your father was a blood mage— “

“My father was _not_ a blood mage,” she objected, hurriedly.  “I think I would know if he was.  He certainly never went ‘grr, argh’ in my hearing!”

“Not all blood mages become abominations,” Merrill piped up, cheerfully, and Isabela leaned over to whisper into her ear, hopefully about this not being the time or place to bring up her pro-blood-magic stance.

“Anything good in the chest, ‘Bela?” Hawke asked, as Anders read.

“Gold.  Potions.  Glowing orb.”

“Glowing orb?”  She arched a brow and held her hand out.  Isabela huffed an exasperated sigh and handed it over, and Hawke turned it over in her hands, confused.  She held it out to Fenris, who held up both hands in a gesture that screamed he didn’t want to hold it.  Hawke rolled her eyes and examined it again.

“It’s very pretty,” Merrill said, and Varric came over to see what the fuss was about.

“Maybe you shouldn’t bring that along,” he said, sounding concerned.  “Remember what happened the last time we ran across something unknown but potentially valuable in some weird dwarven place?”

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Hawke asked, entranced by the thing.

“You know I hate it when you say that," Varric grumbled, and trudged back off to leave them alone.  Fenris frowned at her, and then at the orb, pointedly.

“We do not need more mysterious magic or… or things, Hawke,” he said, gesturing ineffectually at the _thing_.

“Maybe this is the ‘key’ that the letter mentioned,” Hawke said, before opening her pack and shoving the thing in.  Fenris just shook his head, silvery locks swaying, and turned away, probably to help scout out the area again.

By Hawke’s estimation, it was getting to be about sunset outside, and none of them wanted to take the chance of continuing on without some sort of meal.  They retreated back to the little room Hawke had rested in initially and set up a small, contained fire to help cook the food they had found.  Dried meat was not tasty, but added to some water and elfroot and the deep mushrooms that seemed to be growing out of everything there, and it made a sort of stew that was certainly better than nothing, and that and some of the hardtack biscuits would make a much better repast than they had had for the midday meal.  Plus, there was the very, very small quantity of piss-poor wine that they tapped into and passed around, almost as if they were back in Kirkwall.  Hawke was half expecting Isabela to suggest a game of Wicked Grace to pass the time.

While she and Merrill worked together to get the food going, the two of them being the best cooks of the bunch, Carver and Fenris worked to break up some of the boards and create two different barricades, one on a more interior door and one on the door that led to the room with the railing and stairs that led down to their encampment.  Anders helped by placing a barrier and a ward on each of them; the purpose of the wards was to alert for any trouble, although it was a spell that had to be maintained.  Hawke and Merrill would each take their turns while Anders slept; the wards were easy to maintain and did not require much in the way of mana, but holding sustained spells for hours was exhausting.  Hawke also made sure that the other doorway to the room, the one they had come in from the outside, got its own barrier, even if they didn’t board it up.

They were all restless, especially since they were all aware that they _needed_ to rest and relax as much as possible.  Tensions were high, from all the fighting and the general unknown of the place, but at least, Hawke thought, they were all coming together well to work as a team.  The only sniping back and forth was done fairly good-naturedly, in her opinion, although remarks came rather few and far between. 

When it came time to try to sleep, Hawke found her mind circling ‘round and ‘round, back to Kirkwall, where Bethy was, hopefully, safe and sound.  It had taken them fourteen days to get there, and they had spent two days, total, in the wretched place.  Another fourteen days to get back…  She shook her head and gritted her back teeth, trying to force the tears away.  Another fourteen days to get back, if they were lucky.  If they managed to get out of this place tomorrow.  If they were unlucky… who knew?  It was almost enough for her to send someone back to the last village, to pass a letter on to Aveline to let her know they were doing their best, but it would take some time.  However, she couldn’t let anyone go back through those woods on their own, and, given that they had been fighting in tough situations the last few days, she couldn’t trust that they could do without _anyone_ , especially not the rogues, who would have the best chance of moving the most quickly.  So, there was no telling how much longer they’d be gone, or how long before she could get back to her daughter.  It _hurt_.

When Fenris settled beside her, his chest pressing against her back, an arm snaking around her waist and his chest resting on her shoulder, she sighed heavily.  Was she truly that easy to read? She wasn’t aware that she had tensed up so much until he drew back.

“I apologize, Hawke,” he said, voice a near whisper.  “I simply…  I miss Bethy, and I was hoping you would not mind me holding you for a while.  As comfort.  For myself.”

Abruptly, Hawke started crying, the tears falling freely.  At least this time, she thought, it wasn’t accompanied by the loud sobbing sounds like when Carver approached her that night.  She rolled over and pressed her face against Fenris’s breastplate, and he snaked his other arm around her so that he was holding her tightly against him.

“I thought it was going to get easier,” she murmured, “but it isn’t.”

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m ready to go home now, Fenris.”

“I know,” he said.  “I am, as well.”

“But we can’t.”

“Not yet.”

Not yet.  But at least Fenris was still holding out hope that they would be done with this wretched place and these stupid, insane dwarves, and so Hawke would hold out hope for that, too.

* * *

 

Everyone was exhausted, but Hawke had them all up and going again roughly four hours after they had finished eating.  She tried to give them a pep talk, assuring each of them that they had done more on less, but that simply wasn’t true for most of them.  The Deep Roads expedition that she, Varric, Fenris, and Anders had gone on was more difficult, once Bartrand had locked them away in that weird thaig, and they had spent a good two weeks down there trying to find a way back out.  However, her words seemed to give them all some sort of hope, and they trudged back up the stairs, pulling down the barricades and breaking through the barriers with renewed vigor.

It was eerily quiet as they made their way back through the ground they had won with blood the hours (the day?) before, and Hawke was beginning to wonder if they hadn’t killed all of the Carta dwarves, after all, when one of them ran up to them out of the darkness.

“The Hawke’s blood!  The Master will rise!  He will be free!”  Hawke groaned out loud.  Great.  More insane dwarves.

“Gerav?” Varric asked, shocked, and Hawke was drawn up short.  Varric _knew_ this dwarf?

“Varric?!” the dwarf said, sounding as shocked at Varric did.  “No one told me you were a part of this.  We were just going after the Hawke!”

“Why has the Carta been attacking me?” Hawke asked, coming forward to stand beside Varric.  Isabela, she noted, had dropped into stealth, and Fenris and Carver flanked Hawke, obviously to add extra protection.  She hoped the mages were hanging back and keeping their eyes open.

“I can’t say,” the dwarf told her.  “The Master must be free!”

Varric stepped forward, putting himself between Hawke and this Gerav, and Hawke tightened her grip on her staff.  “Really, Gerav?”  He sounded disappointed.  “I thought better of you than this.  I mean, gutting the occasional competitor for fun and profit, that’s the game, sure, but what are you doing here?  Worshiping demons?”

“We drink the darkspawn blood,” Gerav said, and Hawke felt her stomach turn.  Perhaps the stew had been a bad idea, if there were going to be more disgusting surprises like that awaiting them.  “He calls us…”

“Why would you do that?”  Hawke asked, disgusted.  “Won’t you just die?”

“It’s the only way… to hear the music.” 

“Oh come on, you nug-licker.  Snap out of it!” Varric yelled.  “There’s no gold in hallucinating!”

“Varric, why don’t you introduce me to your lunatic friend?” Hawke asked, and Varric turned to her just slightly, keeping Gerav in his sight. 

He sighed, and then said, “Hawke, this is Gerav.  He’s a greedy, brilliant bastard-son-of-a-nug in the Carta.  Gerav, this is Hawke.  The one whose blood you want to drink, or bathe in, or whatever.  But if you’re looking for eternal youth, I’ve got to tell you, she’s no virgin.”  Hawke choked slightly and nudged him with the butt of her staff, but Varric’s attention was back on Gerav.

“The Master is calling!  He needs the blood!”  Hawke shook her head.  Yes, Gerav would now be referred to as “Insane Dwarf 2” in her mind.

“Gerav, buddy… this isn’t like you,” Varric said, and then brandished Bianca.  “Look, I’ve still got Bianca.”  He gazed at the crossbow fondly, but didn’t smile.  “Never misfired a day in her life.  You wouldn’t want her to see her papa this way, would you?”

“Varric,” Hawke said to him.  “Do you want to spare this bastard?”

Varric shook his head.  “Not if he’s after you, Hawke,” he said, sadly, and Hawke’s heart hurt for her friend for a moment.  “Bianca, I think it’s time to say goodbye.”  He lifted her up to his eye, taking aim at the same time Gerav stepped back and threw down a chameleon flask, obscuring himself.  “Reinforcements!” Varric called, to the others, and Hawke stepped back as Carver and Fenris shoved past her and two other dwarves appeared behind where Gerav reappeared, a few feet away.

Isabela appeared behind one of the dwarves and stabbed him quickly with both her main daggers, while Varric took aim for Gerav, firing bolt and after bolt at him.  Anders came forward and started putting barriers on the melee fighters again while Merrill moved between her elemental and primal magics and putting what were obviously hexes on the Carta dwarves.  The two reinforcement dwarves seemed to die fairly quickly, but Gerav, whether he was just that much stronger or driven by his insanity, seemed to not want to go down until Carver shoved his sword into the dwarf’s stomach, Fenris took his head off, Anders froze him in place, and Merrill lit him on fire (the last two sort of canceling each other out, but Hawke figured overkill was better than underkill in a fight for one’s life.) But die the dwarf finally did, without any of them breaking much of a sweat.

Varric knelt beside his dead friend and shook his head.  “Do you want to say a few words, Varric?” Hawke asked, and for once, Varric was quiet, simply shaking his head again before standing and nudging the body with the toe of his boot. 

“Let’s get going,” he said, and if his voice sounded thicker and rougher than usual, no one bothered to comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and chapter 20 were originally one chapter, but I split it into two. 
> 
> Not that this is important or life-changing or anything, I just thought you'd like to know this little bit of trivia.


	20. Naked and Falling In Battle Is No Way To Go Through Life, Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is tired of taking injuries, and everyone else is just tired in general. They run into traps, some of which they can escape and some of which they might not be able to. 
> 
> Special Guest: Insane Dwarf 523!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of blood, lots of gore, lots of violence. Really, you should have expected blood by this point. It's not going to get any less bloody for a good while.

Pushing their way further down and into the odd combination of tunnels and building went no easier after that, and they paid for it inch by bloody inch.  They were all tired from two days (three days?) of little rest, inadequate food and constantly fighting, or being on guard for fighting, and all of them were taking more injuries than they normally would. Fenris and Carver were good, but they were only human (or elven, in Fenris’s case) and some of the Carta dwarves started to slip by and attack the three mages and Varric, to the point where all of them were winding up fighting in a tighter group than they normally did.  It was usually easier (and safer) to be spread out when they had to go into battle, simply because Fenris’s sword was as tall as he was and Carver’s sword was nearly as massive, and sometimes the mages would cast spells that affected larger areas and the melee fighters would get caught in those effects; more than once, Carver and Fenris were frozen, or singed, when something landed too close to them, and Isabela was caught in some of the hexes that Merrill was tossing out as well. 

Most of the time during fighting, the rest of them tossed around battle cries and curses, and Fenris was calm, in control of himself.  But now even Fenris was cursing, although his tone wasn’t quite as loud and angry as the others’ tones were, and Hawke had to marvel, the few seconds she was able to do such a thing, at how well he maintained that control.  But something was going to have to give, and she wasn’t sure what that something was.

It was when they ran across mages with the Carta dwarves when Hawke finally felt the first tinge of despair touch her, like ice in her chest.  Two human mages, both of them working blood magic.  Her feelings must have been obvious from her expression because Merrill called out to her, catching Hawke’s attention.

“If they’re bringing out their mages, we must be getting close, lethallan!”

“Maker, I hope so,” Hawke said, knocking an especially pesky dwarf in the head with the blade end of her staff and getting the metal stuck there.  She scowled and yanked at the thing while the dwarf howled in pain.  “Give… me… back… my staff, you bastard!” she said, finally pulling it free, and the dwarf instinctively grabbed for the gaping, bloody wound that was left there. Hawke took the opportunity of the dwarf’s distraction to bring the blade across his throat, and he fell to his knees as blood poured out of the wound as well as his mouth.  _That should take_ him _out of commission_ , she thought, and put the dying dwarf out of her mind as she moved on to the next enemy.

Once they were done killing that large group of dwarves and mages, Hawke crowed in delight as she found an immense stash of weak lyrium potions in a crate that the stronger of the two blood mages had been guarding.  She, Anders, and Merrill gathered ‘round it and portioned out the potions for themselves, chattering excitedly about their find, while Isabela and Varric looted the bodies and Fenris scouted ahead, trying to see what was beyond the thick, iron gate that seemed to be separating that room from the rest of the building.

“I do not know what is ahead,” Fenris said, disapprovingly, “but we will have to go through this gate to get there.  This is possibly a trap.  Should we split up?” 

Hawke chewed her bottom lip for a moment, eyes darting around to the others and thinking furiously.  “No,” she said, abruptly.  “If we stay together, even if it _is_ a trap, we’ll stand a better chance of all of us getting out than if we were separated.”  No one argued with her, and Hawke decided that none of them liked the idea of being separated any better than she did.  This place was too weird, too creepy and too unknown for them to want to be apart, and, truly, all of them did stand a better chance fighting together and supporting each other in a battle than they did split into uneven groups.

Taking a quick look around at all of them, Fenris wiped the palms of his hands on his leggings before stating, “We should move on.”  Hawke couldn’t argue with that.

Fortunately, “moving on” meant several hallways in succession of little more than emptiness and dust, sputtering lanterns and the occasional crate with something interesting in it, according to Isabela, whose pack was nearly overflowing with all the trinkets and gee-gaws she had found over the last few days.  Hawke was sure that if she found much more, Isabela was going to have to drop her pack and leave it behind or risk missing out on the treasure, and Isabela never gave up on some booty when she had her eye on it.

Varric was on point, with Fenris following this time, and then the mages, followed by Carver and Isabela, when he suddenly stopped and held up a hand for the rest of them to, as well.  Hawke pulled up short, scanning the path ahead cautiously, when Varric shook his head, as if talking himself out of something, and started back walking again.  Just as Merrill was clearing one section of hallway, another one of those large, iron gates fell down and slammed between her and Carver.  Carver banged right into it and Isabela instinctively drew her blades while Carver was rubbing his forehead and looking around. 

Just like that, they were all bringing their weapons ready for attack.  Hawke trotted back to where the gate was closed, trying to find some sort of switch or lever to raise it, but Varric called her attention back towards him.

“Stay close to the gate and be on guard,” she warned the other two.  “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”  And then she was turning in a flurry of bloody, dirty robe skirts and running back towards Varric’s voice as quickly as she could.

In another one of those odd rooms, more dwarves were stationed up on a platform while another, very heavily armed dwarf and an equally, very heavily armed bronto, were down in the lower section.

“Hawke,” the dwarf said.  He sounded slightly less insane than the others, slightly less taken by Blight sickness, and so, in her head, Hawke termed him “Slightly Less Insane Dwarf One.”  “They told me you were going to be trouble,” Slightly Less Insane Dwarf One continued, turning from the gigantic beast and facing the row of dwarven archers up on the raised partition.  “Too bad you don’t have your brother with you,” the dwarf said, and she felt a chill.  “His blood’s as good as yours.”

“What do you insane dwarves want?” Hawke demanded, losing her temper.

“I swore to Corypheus that we’d bring him Malcolm Hawke’s blood, one way or another,” the dwarf said. 

“What does this have to do with my father?”  Hawke’s tone was hard and she marched up a relatively close distance towards the dwarf, refusing to let either Varric or Fenris get in her way this time.

“The Master wants you,” Slightly Less Insane Dwarf One said, his tone neutral and seemingly unconcerned.  “I don’t ask why.”

“So, it’s this Corypheus who wants me?” Hawke demanded. “Or my brother?”

“What Corypheus wants, Corypheus gets,” the dwarf said, his tone neutral.

“Corypheus is going to be disappointed this time,” Varric said, bringing Bianca up to his eye.  Next to him, Fenris got into what Hake termed “Battle Stance Fenris,” with his sword in both hands, ready to spring in an instant.  Behind her, she could feel Anders and Merrill both pulling on their mana, and Hawke did the same thing.  It was going to come down to another fight, apparently.

“He just wants some blood?” Hawke asked, stalling for time.  Maker, she hoped Isabela and Carver could get through that damned gate; down two people, she wasn’t sure if they’d be able to take all these dwarves as easily, even if they did have freshly-restocked lyrium.  “Sure.  How about I open a vein?  Or would a kidney do?”

“Corypheus!” the dwarf called out, raising his hands above his head as if in supplication.  “We have done as you command!  Your sacrifice is here! You will see the surface once more!”  Hawke reevaluated Slightly Less Insane Dwarf One into Insane Dwarf 523.  She was relatively sure they’d killed about that many so far, the last few days.

The dwarf drew an insanely large axe from his back, as disproportionate to his size as Fenris’s sword was to his, and gave some sort of signal to the bronto, which charged into the group.  Hawke tried to dodge to the side of the large beast but failed spectacularly as one of the horns on its nose gored her in the side, ripping her robe further and dragging her along.

“Hawke!” Fenris shouted, alarmed, and all Hawke could do was try to pull away from the bronto, ripping her robes.  _Why do they always go for the stomach,_ she thought, sourly, as a hot flash of pain ripped through her.  _The Arishok, the damned arrow, the sodding bronto._

She had barely had time to get into the fight and her mana was as filled as it was going to be, after fighting so much, so Hawke immediately sent her most powerful Healing spell into herself, and she felt Anders hit her with another one.  Even Merrill’s much weaker field Healing touched Hawke, although by that time the gash in her stomach was well and truly Healed, and Hawke shouted at them to focus on protecting Fenris.

Fenris was not doing well going one-on-two with both the bronto and the damned Insane Dwarf 523, and so Hawke tried using Pull of the Abyss to drag the two of them together and, hopefully, knock some sense into them.  However, the Abyss didn’t work at all on the bronto, and all that happened with the dwarf was that he was slid, somehow, underneath the thing, getting trampled slightly but nothing doing any good sort of damage.  Hawke cursed luridly and tried a Fist of the Maker, which was as weak as usual but actually did do some good damage there.

Anders had managed to catch some of the dwarves up on the partition on fire, and the smell of burning dwarf and searing leather filled the air, along with screams of pain.  Varric was focusing his bolts mainly at said dwarves, because Bianca worked best from a distance, and Merrill was having trouble finding purchase and focusing on one group or another.  “Help Fenris!” she shouted at the elf, and Merrill gave her a tight nod, lips pursed together, and caused more of those roots to shoot up through the ratty wooden floorboards, holding Insane Dwarf 523 in place.

“Fenris, focus on the bronto!” she directed, and then Hawke stood up to go one-on-one with Insane Dwarf 523. 

It was no Arishok battle, but Hawke was exhausted, slightly injured, possessing of a ripped robe whose enchantments were now destroyed, and very angry.  These dwarves and their master wanted hers and Carver’s blood, did they?  She gritted her teeth and smashed the blunt end of the staff against the dwarf’s jaw; the roots were still holding him in place, but he was well armored, and, unfortunately, by the time she managed to get the blade end around to slash at him, the dwarf had managed to get free of the roots.  He wanted her blood?  He was free to try to take it. 

She skipped backwards, tripping on the hem of her robe ( _And why do I keep doing that?_ She asked herself, irritated.  She would simply have to get shorter robes, in the future, or stick to trousers) but managing to keep herself from falling by using the staff to prop herself up.  The dwarf swung his axe and actually grazed her on a thigh, causing another huge gash to appear in the robes, and Hawke screamed in irritation and lunged at him, bringing her hand forward and casting one of her ice spells before twisting around and slashing the blade across Insane Dwarf 523’s face.  It was effective, and it cut the dwarf’s nose off; he screamed in pain and struggled against the restrictive ice, managing to break free of Hawke’s relatively weak spell before Hawke managed to bring the blade around again.

She glanced to the side, to check on Fenris, and found him steadily chipping away at the bronto’s defenses.  He was full-on lyrium ghost, now, just a faint, glowing blur, and Hawke knew that was going to take a lot out of him, to keep the markings activated for that long.  They would have to try regrouping after this fight, assuming they were able to come out as the winners, and she came to with a start as an arrow stuck into her arm, courtesy of one of the stupid dwarves up on the platform.  She gritted her teeth and broke the arrow off in the middle, leaving enough sticking out so they could work on it later, but not leaving it so long that it would snag on something, or possibly be a worse weakness than it was going to be.  Maker, that was her main arm, too!  It was surely going to slow down her using the staff as a polearm.

Taking a deep breath, Hawke cast spell after spell at Insane Dwarf 523, calling lightning on him, and then freezing him, and finally casting a weak fire spell.  She was succeeding, at least, in stalling the dwarf from making any further hits connect with her, but at the cost of a quickly-draining mana pool and quickly creeping exhaustion. Abruptly, the bronto charged into her and Hawke stumbled forward just as the dwarf was pulling himself free, and the corner of the wicked axe met Hawke’s chest.  The dwarf _dragged_ the axe down with him as gravity pulled Hawke his way and she screamed in terror and pain as the axe sliced her.  It was a pain she hadn’t truly experienced the like of since the Arishok, and Hawke, horrified, dropped to her knees, pressing her hands against the worst of where she was torn open.  Her robes hung, a bloody ruin, baring her from breast to groin, and Hawke tried to stay conscious long enough to pour more Healing into herself.

“Hold on, lethallan,” came Merrill’s voice, and her weak Healing felt cool along skin that suddenly felt incredibly hot. Hawke shook her head and tried to say something, but all that came out was a warm trickle of blood.  She heard more shouting, and tried to stand, but a firm hand pushed her back down.  Something grabbed at her staff, and Hawke tried to hold onto it, but her weakened grasp let it slip from her fingers.  It was all she could do to lie there, in pain, hearing the sounds of battle around her.  She found herself blacking out and coming to abruptly, and she could no longer determine how long it was taking for things to happen.

* * *

 

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, but she awoke, gradually, to Anders working his magic over her, hands glowing blue-green and an aura of blue surrounding him.  She thought she heard Carver’s voice before she blacked out again, and when she woke again to the familiar taste of a red healing potion being poured between her lips, she was sure she heard him, and Isabela both.

“—too injured,” someone was saying, and it took her a moment to realize it was ‘Bela. 

“For what?” she tried to ask, but it came out in a tangle of sounds. 

“Shh, Hawke, don’t try to talk,” Merrill said, pushing her back down.  She hadn’t realized she had tried to raise up until she _was_ pushed back down. 

“Fenris…”  She wasn't sure if her attempted words were actually making any sense or not.

“No, Hawke, stay down.”

“Did we win?”

“Will giving her another lyrium potion help?”  Carver asked.

“It couldn’t hurt.  Look through her pack,” Anders said, his voice full of concern.  A moment passed and then the sweet, metallic taste of lyrium was flooding her mouth.  She coughed, but gentle fingers stroked her throat and held her nose, kept her mouth shut, and she swallowed involuntarily. 

“That’s nearly as bad as the Arishok,” Isabela said, concerned.  “Do we have time to Heal her properly?  I know we don’t have time to wait for her to recover like we did then.  A full week on bedrest.  It’s a miracle she didn’t lose Bethy.”

“We can’t turn back now,” Carver said.  Where was Varric?  Where was _Fenris?_   She tried to speak again, but found it a little bit hard to breath.  Oh well; she was going to have a lovely scar to go along with the one from the Arishok.  This one would be slightly longer, however; the Arishok had just impaled her.

“Is she awake, mage?” Ah.  There was Fenris.  Hawke tried to raise her hand to him, but it wouldn’t work.  Her eyes didn’t seem to want to open, either.

“I can’t tell.  I think she might be unconscious again, except her breathing isn’t regular enough.”

“You can Heal her?”

“What do you think I’ve _been_ doing?”  Anders sounded tired and irritated, and Hawke felt another cool pulse of Healing flow through her. 

“She will survive?”

“If I tell you ‘yes,’ will you leave me alone?  And no, you can’t get her up against the wall as soon as she wakes up this time, Fenris.”

“You… _mage_ ,” Fenris spat, and Hawke wanted to tell him that it was going to be okay, that she was okay, but her mouth wouldn’t move.  Finally, she sighed, just slightly, and decided to stop fighting against the lethargy that had overtaken her.  Trying to communicate was too much effort for the time being, and so she would simply lie there and let Anders Heal her.  At least Fenris was alive and relatively uninjured, if his irritated tone told her anything, and Isabela and Carver had somehow gotten back to them.

Waking again was a slow and painful process, and one that Hawke was most unhappy about.  The new scar that ran diagonally from her left breast to nearly her right hip burned like fire, and she felt weak, drained of her mana as well as her energy, although she could feel that her mana pool was completely filled up and ready to use.  Hawke reached for her connection to the fade and breathed a sigh of relief when she let it fill her, and then pressed both of her hands against the length of the scarred gash and poured even more Healing energy into it.  Immediately, she felt better, and so Hawke cast a Rejuvenation spell on herself, on top of the Healing.

“You’re awake then?  Good,” Isabela said, and nudged Hawke’s bare foot with her booted toe.  “That was a close call.  Don’t do that again, Hawke.”

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Hawke replied, weakly.

“Too bad Fenris isn’t going to get another shot at you,” Isabela said, with a wistful sigh.  “I’d like to see him have you up against the wall.”

Hawke managed to sit up then, reclining on her elbows.  Isabela’s normally white tunic was stained pink and red nearly all over, and she even had blood smears along the bandana she always wore to keep her hair back.  Her boots were splattered with muddy blood, as well.

“Is Varric okay?”  She held an arm against her stomach as she tried to sit up further, and Isabela pursed her lips together and arched one of those manicured brows before Hawke decided it was best she lie down again.

“Varric’s fine.  You were the most seriously injured, and then Fenris.  Somehow that bronto managed to dislocate his shoulder, break a leg, break half his ribs, and still your elf fought like a madman.”  ‘Bela grinned widely at Hawke.  “You sure you don’t want to share, sweet thing?  I could go for a man with stamina like that.”

“Anders Healed him, though, right?”

“Right as raindrops,” ‘Bela agreed, with a quick nod.  “Carver’s out keeping watch, and everyone else is sleeping.  I’m technically on watch, too, but mainly watching you.”

“So all those damned insane dwarves were killed, then?”

“Not that it was easy, but once Carver and I found a way to get through that stupid gate, we managed to take down the rest of them.”  Isabela eyed her appreciably.  “There wasn’t much work left for us to do, but with you down, we lost one of our main Healers, and that just couldn’t do.”

“I’d rather have been awake for the whole thing, thank you very much,” Hawke said, faking an arch tone, and Isabela laughed and nudged her foot again. 

“Do you want something to eat?  Anders said that if you woke up during anyone’s watch and were hungry, it would be okay to eat.  We’ve got some cold stew.  Same type of stew as last night, I’m afraid.”

“That sounds good,” Hawke told her.  “But I’ll need to sit up to eat.”

“Don’t you worry, sweet thing.  Auntie ‘Bela will help you sit up, and spoon feed you, too, if you need it.”

Isabela helped Hawke sit up, but Hawke declined any help eating.  Instead, she pumped the pirate for information, and found out that she had been sleeping for at least six hours.  After the dwarves and the bronto were all finally killed, and Fenris’s wounds were seen to, Anders was able to focus his full Healing efforts on Hawke. 

“He knew you had already done _some_ Healing,” Isabela said, wiggling her fingers to indicate magic.  “However you all know those types of things.  And then we all just sort of made camp and settled down.  There’s a set of stairs leading down to some sort of basement, but none of us dared go further than halfway down, just in case we got separated again.  Anders and Merrill put up barriers around us, and… well, here we are.”

After eating, Hawke decided she wanted to try sleeping again, and found it rather easily, although it was somewhat brief.  Fenris was sitting beside her when she woke again, and Isabela must have told him that she had woken while he slept because he didn’t seem surprised when she called his name, instead simply offering her a waterskin filled with leathery-tasting, lukewarm water.  Hawke made a face, but drank it down eagerly; her mouth had felt dry, and tasted like the inside of a shoe.

“This has got to be the worst vacation of all time,” Hawke said, and the joke felt flatter this time than when she had said it before. 

“We’ll make sure to complain about the food the next time we’re able,” Fenris replied, dryly.

“You’re not hurt too badly, right?” she asked.

“I was.  It was quite painful, actually.  I wanted Anders to see to you, first, but he insisted on seeing to me.”

“it makes the most sense,” she assured him, patting his thigh with a hand.  “If I’d have been conscious, I’d have wanted him to see to you, too.  That way you could defend us if any more of those insane, stupid dwarves came, while Anders worked on me.”

“Just because it was logical does not mean I had to like it,” Fenris growled, gripping her hand tightly.  She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back more gently. 

“Any sign of this ‘Corypheus’ person?”

“None,” Fenris said, quickly.  “Although we did not venture far.  Between all of our own exhaustion and your injury… “

“I understand,” she told him, and sighed as she looked down at her relative state of undress.  Someone had removed the ripped robe and replaced it with the only sleeping shift she had packed for the entire trip.  Now Hawke was down to one robe, and even that one would be less effective because of the earlier arrow it had taken.  “Maker, but I need to build my stamina back up,” she complained, flipping hair out of her face in irritation.  “The few jobs I’ve been allowed to do back in Kirkwall were not enough to get me back into shape and prepare me for this.”

“Hawke,” Fenris replied, sounding, if nothing else, annoyed.  “I don’t think anything could have prepared you for this.  I don’t think anyone could have prepared _any_ of us for this.”

“Maybe so,” Hawke mumbled, but she knew Fenris was right.  There was very little that could have prepared any of them for this ridiculous amount of fighting so far from civilization. 

By the time another two hours had passed, everyone was awake and more well rested than they had been the day before.  Truthfully, they had all lost track of what time it was, and whether it was night or day, but Hawke figured that it did not actually matter, so long as they were able to continue pressing on.

They gathered up all of their belongings and Hawke sent the two rogues to scout ahead.  The only way for them to go, really, was down the stairs that had been located; the other entrances had been blocked off, and Hawke knew that retracing their steps would simply get them out of wherever they were as opposed to taking them further ahead to find this Corypheus.  At least they had a target, an enemy of sorts, for whoever this Corypheus was, wanting Hawke’s and Carver’s blood was certainly not something that a person wishing them well would be after.

None of them had bothered to loot the bodies of the dead dwarves the night before, and Hawke led Isabela and Varric in insane-dead-dwarf-body looting.  On the one that had given her such trouble, Insane Dwarf 523, she found a very odd looking stave that resembled nothing so much as a mage’s staff.  She frowned at it and nudged it with the toe of her boot, and then knelt down to grasp the thing.  She stood up with a cry as the staff started glowing with an electric blue-purple sheen.

“What is this?” she asked, her voice rising with panic.  “I can… feel it inside me.”  Fenris rushed to her side, frowning quite sharply at the staff she was holding parallel to the ground.  Anders wasn’t far behind him. 

“Where did you get that?” he asked her.

“From the dwarf,” she said.  “He mentioned a key.”  The blue-purple electricity was dying down quickly, and the odd feeling that had welled up in her disappeared.  “I bet this is going to take us to that Corypheus, and not that orb we found earlier."

“Are you sure this isn’t something to use for blood magic?” Fenris asked, suspicious, and she gave him a disapproving frown that he returned with interest.

“Merrill?  Can you tell me if this is used in blood magic?”  The Dalish woman skipped over and examined the staff, frowning slightly in thought.

“Perhaps,” she said, finally, with a shrug of her shoulders.  “It’s not something I’m very familiar with.”

“But it’s worth taking along?” she asked, and Merrill nodded quickly.

“I think it’s that key the dwarf was talking about, too,” she said, in agreement.

“Then it’s coming, too.”  Hawke drew on her mana through the staff and was amazed at how it was boosted.  “This thing is strong!” she exclaimed, tilting her head to look at it further. It had a blade on the end, which was going to be useful, and the head of it was large, blunt, heavy, and had some sort of stone in the middle, perhaps a ruby.  It looked valuable, overall, and deadly.  “I can draw more mana using this,” she confirmed, pulling in even more.

“So long as you take a care,” Anders told her.  “I think that’s tied to your blood, perhaps through your father.”

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, not just to him but to herself.  She _would_ be careful.  “Varric, how are things looking at the stairs?”

“The stairs look clear, as far as I can tell,” Varric assured her, and Isabela added her own assurances to Varric’s. 

“I couldn’t see any traps, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any further down.”  Hawke took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly; it still hurt to breath, a little bit, but she and Anders had done their best and she was relatively put back together.  The pain was something she would just have to push through. 

“Well, lead the way,” she said, gesturing for the two of them to go forward. 

Taking the first steps down the stairway hurt, but Hawke managed to persevere with only limited help from Merrill. 

“You can do it, lethallan,” Merrill kept whispering to her.  “I believe in you.” 

The stairs opened into progressively larger and larger landings, and suddenly all the building around them was made of thick, old, grey stone.  It looked nothing like dwarven construction, and it was certainly not the Deep Roads.  Hawke looked around and frowned; were those Grey Warden banners on the wall? 

She could hear boots on the old stones, and suddenly a half dozen dwarves came into view.  One of them grinned at her and then the entire group turned, as a man, and ran back the way they came.  Hawke scowled and her entire crew ran off after them, down the remaining stairs and into the rest of the building proper.

The dwarves quickly ran out of sight, since everyone was keeping their pace to what Hawke was successfully able to manage, and suddenly, behind them on the stairs, there came a loud electricity-ish sound, and something similar to the sound the large iron gate had made when it thudded down.  Hawke skidded to a stop and turned, only to see a massive purple barrier covering the entirety of the steps.  Her mouth dropped open slightly and she jogged up to examine it.  She put a hand out and hissed in pain as a shock of electricity bolted out to meet her fingers.

“I guess we should have expected this,” she said, not turning around to face her crew.  It appeared that they were good and trapped, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible at writing these fight scenes, but I keep trying because I know I won't get better unless I try. So yay me?


	21. Woah oh! Tainted Prison! Oh oh!  Tainted Prison, oh!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Fenris, and company descend into the old Grey Warden prison, where they meet a creepy old man who probably isn't the bad guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to apologize ahead of time for this chapter. It's later than I wanted it to be (I've had the bulk of it written for about 5 days now) because I've had a very, very bad fibromyalgia flare-up and spent the better part of three days just sleeping or with the horrible brain fog. So please forgive me on that. 
> 
> Secondly, I use a LOT of the Legacy dialogue here, partly due to said brain fog making it difficult for me to parse together my own dialogue and partly because it just happens to be what needed to be said. I'm not planning on using as much game dialogue in the next chapter. Also, the next chapter should see them on their way out of the Grey Warden prison and on their way back to Kirkwall, so Hawke and Fenris can get back to their daughter and the kid fic can ensue again.
> 
> Finally, thank you all for the wonderful comments and kudos! I truly appreciate it :-) It's giving me some much needed self-esteem and I will be writing more stories for everyone to enjoy, as well as my current WIPs.

“Well.  Shit,” Varric said, and Hawke felt that was the best summing-up of the situation that anyone could have done.

She turned from the barrier that had fallen, her head down, and sighed.  Not in defeat, just in… exhaustion, really.  The rest of her crew stood at the foot of the steps, watching her, and she sighed again and shook off the dark feeling that had settled on her shoulders.

“Right.  I guess we’re going forward, then.  Unless you’ve got an idea of how to break down the barrier?” she said, directing the last comment to the other two mages.

Merrill and Anders shared a look, and then both concentrated, intensely, on the purple, glowing barrier behind Hawke.  She skipped down the rest of the steps, to make sure she was good and out of the way.

“Sorry, Hawke,” Merrill told her.  “I don’t even think blood magic can open that.  Or at least, none that I know of.”

“It feels odd,” Anders said, brows drawn down.  “Familiar, in a way, but… I don’t think I can get past it, either.  It’s not like any barrier I’ve run across, but it feels familiar.  Why does it feel familiar?”

Hawke shrugged uncomfortably for a moment and then straightened her back.  It would do no one any good to despair.  “Well, let’s head forward, then.  Varric?  ‘Bela?  One of you want to take the lead?”

Isabela led this time, keeping a wary eye out for traps, and Fenris dropped back behind to walk beside Hawke.  He touched her arm lightly, just enough to know that she wasn’t alone, and Hawke shot him a grateful smile.  They were a team, she and Fenris, even if nothing was completely formalized between them.  He still wore that red ribbon, after all.

“How is it you get into these situations so often?” he asked her, his voice carrying on a normal level.

“What do you mean?” she said, looking at one of the banners as they passed.  Those _were_ Grey Warden banners.  She recognized the griffon.

“Attacked by dwarves, approached by strangers, stumbling into strange puzzles.  Madness,” Fenris said, and Hawke started slightly.

“It’s a gift,” she replied, smirking slightly.  He chuckled softly.

“Well, _I_ think you should return it.”  Carver barked a laugh, out in front of them, and Merrill tittered slightly. 

On her other side, Anders was looking around with a frown, his body tense.  “Hawke,” he said, after a few silent moments.  “I… I think I’m beginning to sense some darkspawn.”

“Darkspawn nearby?  Are we close to the Deep Roads, then?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, his face open and honest.  “But my Warden senses are tingling.”

“We’ll be ready for them if they show up,” she promised him.  “Everyone, if you see any signs of darkspawn, stay back.  Don’t get the blood in your mouth, and if you take any wounds, fall back away from them immediately.” 

“I’ll do my best to keep the barriers up on Fenris and Carver,” Anders told her, “but I’ll need your help in that as well.”

“You’ve got it.  We’ll make that our priority.”   They rounded a corner and came out onto some sort of balcony, with a waist-high railing; from there, Hawke could see several darkspawn running in a group, and she shared a troubled look with Anders.  “Looks like your Warden senses were right,” she told him, voice full of disappointment.

“Of all the things to be right about,” Anders said, trying to affect a cheerful tone but failing.  Hawke patted him on a feathered pauldron. 

“Be on the alert, everyone.”

After that, there was relatively little discussion.  Everyone was on too high of an alert to even engage in the usual banter; darkspawn were no joking matter, and being trapped wherever they were with darkspawn made things worse, not better.  It didn’t help that it seemed all they were doing was going from one identical corridor to the next; all the plain, grey stone was beginning to get boring.

Hawke was following right along behind Isabela, who was on point, when they ran into a large room that held what resembled nothing so much as prison cells at the same time a group of genlocks did.

Immediately, Isabela dropped into stealth and disappeared, leaving Hawke out front.  She hurriedly erected a barrier around the entire group, since they were still so cloistered together, and then fire began raining down on the darkspawn’s heads.

Bolts from Bianca followed, and Carver and Fenris both rushing forward, swords at the ready.  These darkspawn were larger and, by far, uglier, than the ones she had run into previously, and Hawke watched with great distaste as the short-ranged fighters slashed and hacked while the other two mages flung one offensive spell after another at the things. 

There could not have been more than ten of the things, and the fight was over relatively quickly with little more than bruises sustained.  Hawke took the opportunity of a quick break to examine the room more closely; one of the cells seemed to be a sort of prison of its own, as there looked to be a demon or a shade held behind a barrier there.  On the walls were large shields with the Grey Warden symbol on them, and Hawke carefully approached the one that was closest. 

She heard a booming and, somehow, _familiar_ , voice, then, intoned: “Be bound here for eternity.  Hunter, stilled.  Rage, smothered.  Desire, dampened.  Pride, crushed.  In the name of the Maker, so let it be.” It was so familiar… Hawke curiously fidgeted with first one, then the other, of the two shields, to see if she could get the voice to speak again.  There was an odd _shifting_ in the room, and then the barrier was down in the cell and the shade, for shade it was, was free.

It called more of its fellows to it, and at least in this, they were able to get in closer and be slightly more reckless in hopes of scoring heavier hits, to get the fight over with more quickly.  It was a harder fight than the one against the genlocks had been, but Hawke and her merry band of misfits had gotten long used to fighting shades, and these went down with no more trouble than any of the others she had faced. 

As suddenly as the battle was finished, the voice began again.  “I could do nothing about the Wardens’ use of demons in this horrid place.  But, I will have no one say that any magic of _mine_ released one into the world!”  She didn’t realize she had been staring, straining to hear every last nuance of the voice, until Carver spoke up, excited.

“That sounded like Father’s voice!”  She inhaled sharply; _that_ was why the voice sounded familiar.

“I’m liking this less and less,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck and closing her eyes.  “Blood magic and demons…  This isn’t the Father we knew.”

“To be fair, I think he said something about _not_ releasing demons,” Carver pointed out. 

“Even so, I don’t like it.”

“I never said I did, sister, but we’ve got to live with how things are, and now how we want them to be.”  She looked at Carver with widened eyes and blinked several times.

“Listen to your brother,” Fenris said, walking past her and into one of the cells to look around in it.  Hawke shook her head; the day Fenris told her she should listen to Carver should have been the day nugs flew.  But who knew what was going on, back in Kirkwall?  The place was insane enough that nugs could _actually_ _be_ flying.

Hallway after hallway, dilapidated stone room after dilapidated stone room, they fought their way forward.  None of them could figure out what this building had been built for, other than the general idea of a prison, but it had Grey Warden banners all over.  Anders was happy to confirm that was what they were, although not so happy that they were actually there, in and amongst the darkspawn who continued attacking.

The crew was just getting ready to cross one of the longer bridges when an actual, for lack of a better term, _person_ appeared before them.  He was balding badly, with faint wisps of hair sticking up everywhere, and those matching the grey of his beard.  His eyes were that same odd murky shade that the dwarves’ eyes had been, and he walked in a hunch.  However, he was dressed in what appeared to have been some rather fine armor, with a sword strapped to his back that rivaled anything Fenris or Carver used, so he must have been stronger than he looked.

“The key!” the man rasped, hobbling towards them, and Hawke took a step back, pulling Varric, who was taking point, with her.  “The dwarves.  I heard them.  Looking.”  Something about his pauses between words made her think of Xenon.  “How do you bring the key here?”

Hawke held up the staff that she had recovered from Insane Dwarf 523.  “You mean this?  How is this a key?”

“Magic,” the man responded, looking around.  Hawke wondered if he could actually see through those eyes.  “Old magic, it is.  Magic… from the blood.”  Great.  _More_ blood magic.  It seemed she was not going to like this answer.  “It made the seals.  It… can destroy them.”  Seals?

“I came in here to find this Corypheus person,” she said.  “Do you know where, or _what_ , he is?”

“Do not say his name!” the stranger hissed, taking a step back and gesturing wildly with his hands.  “He will _hear_ you!  Do not wake him!”  He gestured to the staff, then.  “Not when you hold the key!”

“The door sealed behind us,” Hawke said, wondering if that was the same seal this man had alluded to earlier.  “Is there another exit?”

“No way out when the walls stand,” the man explained, and then shuffled to the side of the bridge and leaned against the metal railing.  “The wardens build their prisons well. If the center holds, who cares what else is trapped?”

“I don’t think we’re getting any help here, Hawke,” Varric told her, with a shake of his head.  At the mention of her name, the man turned back to her.

“Hawke?  You… are the blood of the Hawke?”  He paused for a moment and then turned his back on the entire group, hobbling a few steps away from them.  “Yes.  Yes, I smell the magic on you.  But you hold the key!  The key… to his death.”

“Who are you?”  Hawke asked, moving forward slightly.  “What’s wrong with you?”

“ _You_ ask me that?  _I_ am the one who belongs here, not you!  _You_ are no darkspawn!”

“He’s wearing Grey Warden armor,” Anders said, stepping up beside Hawke.  “Maybe he used to be one?”

“You hear it, no?  Hear it calling?  I smell it in you!”  the man said, to Anders.  “Yes, yes… Wardens.  Grey Wardens.  Guardians against the Blight!”  At that, he seemed to stand a little straighter, and his voice took on an edge of pride.  “I know the way out.  Follow me.  Down and in, down and in…”

“Because I always like to follow the advice of tainted, crazy people,” Hawke said, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead and closing her eyes.

“Never stopped you before,” Fenris said.

“You _always_ follow the advice of tainted, crazy people, Hawke,” Isabela added, helpfully.

“When have you _stopped_?” Carver asked.  Hawke sighed dramatically and turned to face the rest of them, giving Fenris, especially, a hard glare.

“Is the peanut gallery satisfied now?”  There was some general muttering and shuffling of feet that she was going to take for apologies.  Fenris merely smirked at her.  She would smirk _him_. 

“Not crazy, no,” the man said.  “ _I_ know the prison’s secrets. Trust me.”  He was facing them now, but looked over his shoulder, the way they were headed.  “The seals hold us in.  Anything comes in, nothing ever leaves.  Not without the key.  You must use it, yes.  On the seals.”

“Not on the big seal, back the way we came?” Hawke asked, hefting the staff up again and looking over it.

“Every seal, you touch the key to it.  Only then they open.  Only… for the Hawke.”  Hawke turned to face the others as the stranger continued.  “Not back.  Not up.  Only way out is down and through the heart.  Down… and through the heart…”  She heard him shuffling off again.

“Opinions?” she asked the group in general.

“Do we have a choice?”  Varric asked her, rhetorically. 

“I’d rather not continue on if this goes into the Deep Roads,” Anders said.  “The presence of a Warden and the darkspawn scream ‘Deep Roads’ to me.  But I don’t think we have much of an option.”

“I want to get out of this place as soon as possible,” Merrill agreed.  “If that means we keep going, then… I guess we keep going.”

“But how far are we going to need to follow this guy?” Carver asked.  “We have limited rations and no way of knowing where he’s really leading us.”

“Well, Carver, unless you can suggest a better idea than following him down and out, I’d suggest _you_ stop objecting,” Merrill said, surprisingly.  She came to stand next to Hawke, folding her arms under her breasts, and frowned sharply at the big man.  “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m ready to get out of here and see some fresh air again.”

“I hate the Deep Roads,” Varric and Anders said at the same time, and they gave each other matching looks of understanding.

“Down,” the man said, again.  “Down, into the depths.”

“I guess we’re following him, sweet thing, but let me go first,” Isabela said, and sauntered past Hawke to follow the stranger.  The rest of them fell in line, more or less, behind her.

“I’ve tried to forget about this side of myself,” Anders told her, voice quiet.  “With Justice… it just seems so insignificant.  But seeing that poor bastard brings it all back.  The darkspawn taint.  The call of the archdemon.  It’s inside me, too.  As much a part of me as Justice is.”  She glanced at him and saw the sorrow etched there, and Hawke put a hand on his arm for comfort.

“We’re here for you, Anders,” she promised him.

“It’s good that you’ve got Fenris instead of me,” he said, after a moment.  “The ugliness that I would have brought into your life… yours and Bethy’s…”  Behind her, Fenris growled, and Hawke bit her tongue to keep from telling him that this wasn’t the time.  Seeing that man and seeing what he would become, plus the presence of the darkspawn all around, was surely weighing heavily on Anders.  The least Fenris could do was not make it worse.

“Nobody’s perfect,” she said to Anders, instead.  “But at least we’re friends, Anders.”

“Yes,” was the only reply she got in return.

“You know, I’d like to know who this ‘Corypheus’ is,” she said, to no one in particular.  “With a name like that he’s bound to go ‘mwa ha ha’ at some point, I just know it.  And really, more blood?  Why can’t it ever be spit?  Or a lock of hair?”  Merrill giggled and Anders choked slightly.

“You really want to encounter a spit mage?” Varric asked, sounding disgusted.

“For variety, sure,” Hawke replied, flippantly.

“You worry me, you know that, right?” Carver asked her.  Up ahead, Isabela cackled with laughter.

“Varric,” Hawke began.  “I’ve heard some, ah, stories.  Of a… personal… nature.  Being spread around.”

“You’re the Champion of Kirkwall,” Varric declared, putting that “boom” into his voice that he usually reserved for the best nights at The Hanged Man.  People pay attention to everything you do.  And every _one_.”  She caught his smug grin.  “And you’re wanting me to set the record straight, right?  I’m honored.”

“Well, it _would_ be nice if there weren’t so many salacious details involved in them,” Hawke agreed.

“As it happens,” Varric said, adjusting Bianca on his shoulder, “I haven’t told anyone about you and that, uh, angsty Tevinter elf.  Try looking closer to home for that particular intelligence leak.”

“Angsty Tevinter elf?”  Fenris said the words as if he were tasting them.

“What can I say?  I strive for accuracy,” Varric told him.

“That… is not accuracy,” Fenris replied.

“Everyone’s a critic,” Varric muttered. 

They crossed another one of those long bridges and then came into a large room that was almost circular in shape, with some sort of large, circular platform in the center.  There was glowy light coming up from it, and short pillars on it as well, and Hawke felt the key-staff in her hand start to vibrate slightly.  This must be one of the seals that the strange man was talking about.

Hawke approached the platform, key-staff at the ready, and as soon as she got into the center of it what looked like an enormous Pride demon manifested.  She jumped back with a squawk of surprise, bringing the staff around and in front of her like she usually would with her polearm, but she wasn’t used to the different weight distribution, even after fighting the darkspawn with it, and she overbalanced, falling off the platform and straight onto her rear. 

The next thing she knew, Carver was physically dragging her out of the way of the demon, shouting at her to find out if she was actually okay.  It was more of a surprise than any real sort of injury, and so Hawke shouted back that she was fine, and managed to get first to her knees, then to her feet with little difficulty. 

The last time that she and her crew fought a Pride demon, it hadn’t turned out quite so well.  Fenris had been tempted by the damned thing and turned on her, trying to stick his sword into Hawke in a way that wasn’t exactly fun and games.  It had hurt tremendously to beat the shit out of him, but at least they knew, between them, who would win in any further battles. 

Back on her feet, Hawke directed a cold spell at the thing, and then channeled energy through her staff to direct it at the Pride demon.  Or whatever it was, for this thing seemed to be going down a lot easier than the Pride demon they had fought in the Fade.  Was it because the thing was corporeal?  Or simply because there were more of them there, and they had gotten into an easier grove of fighting?

Whatever the reason, it did not take much more work for the thing to be finished off, and it seemed to sort of… fade away, once they were done with it.  Once Hawke stepped back, the strange man came back into the little area and she turned to him.

“Let me guess.  The first seal?”

“Two thousand years.  The magic holds.  Never broken.”  She sighed and shook her head.  Great.  Could the man not give a straightforward answer to a simple question? “Give it the key.  Let it take the magic back to itself.”  Hawke shrugged and marched back up onto the platform and held the key out in the middle; suddenly all the pillars lit up and she had to tighten her grip, lest the vibrations overwhelm her and cause her to drop the key-staff.  After a moment, it was done, and she rubbed her eyes with her free hand.  Maker, but she was even more tired than before.

“The blood works!” the man said, triumphantly.  “It is good.”

“I appreciate you helping me,” Hawke said.  “Although all this talking about my blood is a little creepy.  Can I ask your name?”

“Name…” the man said, confused.  “So long since I’ve said my name.  La… Larius.  I was Larius.”  He turned back to Hawke, his expression sad, and she noted that it wasn’t just the hair on his head that was patchy, but his beard as well.  “I was Commander of the Grey.”

“He _was_ a Warden,” Anders said, and the sadness in his voice matched the sadness on this Larius’s face.  “Poor wretch must have come down here on his Calling.”

“Yes!” Larius said, excited.  “The Calling!  The songs get louder.  Only death… can stop them.  I am dead.  But… I never died.”

“Anders?  What are you talking about?  What’s the ‘Calling’?”

“Grey Warden secrets,” Anders muttered, looking away.  “We’re not immune to the taint forever.  Eventually… Well, we start to become like him, and hear the song of the archdemon.  And we turn into ghouls.  Most Wardens go to the Deep Roads before that happens, to try to die fighting the darkspawn one last time.”  And Anders was going to have to suffer through that.  Maker’s mercy, but Hawke felt pity for him right then, and a slight bit of guilt.  If she could only have loved him like she loved Fenris, then Anders’s last years could have been spent with a family that he had never known he could have, had never been _able_ to have.

Shaking her head to clear the thoughts, Hawke addressed Larius.  “If you’re a Warden, do you know what just happened?  Do you know why the seal needs my blood?”

“The magic!  It calls to the blood, reads the thoughts of those who hold it.  The last to hold it… the Hawke.  I was _there_.  I was there when he laid the seals.  Before I became… _this_.”  He looked at Carver, then.  “You favor him.”  It was true; Carver looked so much like Father.  Larius turned away from them again, suddenly.  “Corypheus calls!  In the darkness!  What waits there?!”  He shuffled off and disappeared, faster than Hawke imagined he could move; by the time she managed to catch up to where he was, Larius was gone from sight.

There was, of course, more darkspawn to fight, but fight they did, all the way to the next staircase.  Hawke had Varric lead them down, always on the lookout for more traps, but there seemed to be none around.  This was a prison in truth, meant to keep something from getting out rather than to keep them from getting in, and Hawke wondered, if Anders didn’t know of this place, exactly what the Grey Wardens had to do with the place.  A prison to keep something in, using blood magic on seals for security, that a Warden of Anders’s… level? however the Wardens figured those things… didn’t know about.  She liked this situation less and less.

Almost as soon as they all reached the bottom of the stairwell, Hawke saw shields on the wall similar to those in the first room where they unleashed the shade, and that echo of her father’s voice: “Be bound here for eternity,” it began.  She tuned the rest of it out, instead seeking to replicate her earlier actions and release the demon that was held behind the barrier, intent on killing it.

This one turned out to be some sort of abomination, and it summoned the same sort of rock wraiths that Hawke, Varric, Fenris, and Anders had had to fight in the Deep Roads after Bartrand screwed them over.  Hawke and Varric shared an uncomfortable look between them, at that; neither of them wanted to get into that kind of situation again, but now, being trapped in this place and having to fight the things?  It didn’t look good.

“I may have left the Circle,” her Father’s voice said, loudly, echoing off the walls.  “But I took a vow. _My_ magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base.”  Hawke started; her father had told her that so many times, growing up.  _Let your magic serve that which is best in you, Marian, not that which is most base._   She had heard it hundreds, thousands of times, since her magic first manifested itself.  She had heard him say the same thing to Bethany.  Carver met her eyes, the familiarity of the phrase obviously stirring memories in himself, as well.

“This is telling,” she said, to the group in general.  “Not sure what it’s telling, but it’s certainly telling something.”

“Father wasn’t a Warden, was he?” Carver asked her.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.  “He never told me if he was, and neither did Mother, if she knew.” Hawke rested for a moment, leaning back against the thick wall, hands resting on her thighs.  “It would explain why we’re in some sort of Grey Warden… Prison, I suppose, if he had been.”  She took a moment and ran a Healing spell through herself, and then a Rejuvenation spell; Anders, she noticed, was doing similar to himself, and then Merrill.  Hawke extended the spell to the two fighters, and, before too long, everyone had had it cast upon them.  Down here, with the darkspawn, there was no telling when they would be able to rest again, and they might be relying on the Rejuvenation spells for quite a while.  They were not as good as actual rest and food, but they would do, until someplace safer was discovered.

The foresight to cast the spells was rather welcome when, not very far past where they fought the rock wraiths and abomination, Hawke and her crew ran into more darkspawn.  There was a bigger variety of darkspawn here than the previous ones they had gone up against, however, and the genlocks had larger shields that were harder to get past.  Even the mages’ magic did less good on those things, and they wound up taking much longer to kill as well as doing more damage in general.

It wasn’t too long after that when they came across another one of the shield-barrier setups.  Hawke didn’t waste time; as soon as she heard her father’s voice, binding the spirit, she moved, touching each of the shields and then approaching the final barrier.  Just as was the case the other two times, the barrier came down and there was a demon –a desire demon, this time, built in such a way that Hawke, every time she encountered one of the wretched things, felt like so much less of a woman because she didn’t look like that.  Few women actually _did_ look like that, but that was small comfort to Hawke—along with its minions. 

Hawke fought quickly, and with little patience.  She wanted to hear what her father would say this time.  It had been eight years since she had last heard her father’s voice, and then it was through the veil of sickness and weakness.  She missed him with an impossible ache, and these teasing snippets from him were maddening.  She knew Carver had to feel the same way, for all that Malcolm Hawke had spent more time with his daughters, gifted with magic as they were, than with his son.

When the last shade went down, Hawke stilled immediately, and she caught Carver doing the same out of her peripheral vision.  The others were winding down, from having their blood heated, of course, but Hawke and Carver wanted as much of their father as they could get.

“I've bought our freedom, Leandra.  We can go home now.  Us, and the baby.  We'll be together.  I hope it takes after you, love.  I would wish this magic on no one.  May they never learn what I've done here.”

Her eyes went to Carver, and she knew her mouth was agape as much as his was.  She closed it with an audible clicking of her teeth.  “The baby?  That… that was me, he was talking about.”

“When did Father do this?” Carver asked, coming towards his sister slowly.  “When did he have time for this?  I had hoped that we would get answers, but… I don’t think we’re going to find out much more than this, sister.”

Hawke shook her head sadly and scuffed the toe of her boot on the stone floor.  “I don’t think we will, brother,” she agreed.  She did not need to turn her head to see that the touch on her arm was Fenris, and she could not meet anyone else’s eyes, in case she mistook sympathy for pity. 

“We should move on,” Carver said, after clearing his throat, an echo of the phrase Fenris so often used.

“Yes,” was all Hawke could think to say in agreement.  They should move on.


	22. Tainted Grey Warden Prison, Day 523...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Fenris, and crew spend day #523 in the tainted Grey Warden prison. They make new friends. The new friends are also tainted.

Hawke wasn’t sure what time it was, but she knew that she, at least, could not go on much longer.  The mostly-Healed cut running from breast to hip was starting to burn, and her legs ached, amongst other parts of her.  She felt a gnawing in her stomach, as well, and an exhaustion that showed how close she had come to completely emptying her mana pool during the course of the day.  She had never been very good at telling time, but they had been fighting for hours, and it was time to call a rest, regardless.

A rest, and time for some food; there were plenty of mushrooms growing about the place, and, when added to what else they had managed to scavenge from what the dwarves had had, it was enough to make another stew, albeit a thinner one than they would have liked.  She and Merrill yet again saw to setting up the cookfire and making the meal.  It was a task that Hawke relished, because it was one that required focus on one particular thing, and she could avoid thinking of the voice that was her father’s. 

The room they had settled in only had the two entrances, but it was extremely large and seemed to have those strange cells in them as well.  Hawke took the opportunity, while the stew was coming to a boil, to have a better look at them.  What she had taken for prison cells initially soon realized themselves more as sleeping cells for the Wardens.  This must have been an actual Warden base, at some point, or else the Wardens had spent enough time here for them to need places to sleep.  The rickety cots looked more comfortable than that which prisoners were usually given, albeit a little ravaged by time, and the cells themselves were comfortable, but small enough that it resembled some sort of barracks.  They would do well enough for everyone to use for sleeping, in shifts, Hawke thought. 

Eating took place in shifts, as well, with two people always on guard: one guarding the way they had come, in case some darkspawn knew a sneaky way to flank them, and one guarding the way they were headed, for the obvious reasons.  Hawke hunkered down and ate at the stew methodically, trying to keep her brain away from anything that so much as resembled thinking about her father, but it seemed that the others were not going to let her be.

It started with Fenris.  He was obviously trying to give Hawke some comfort, and Hawke, who usually wanted to talk about things that bothered people in the hopes that she could help them stop being bothered, tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.  But Fenris was making her _think_ , and she wanted to avoid that. 

“Your father seemed like a wise man, who loved you all.  What was it like, to hear his voice again?”  He was seated beside her, their hips pressed close together, seemingly focused on the bowl that was in his hands.  Fenris normally removed his gauntlets for eating, but in this place, none of them wanted to be unarmored.  His sword lay right beside him, in easy reach, just as Hawke’s key-staff and her regular staff lay within easy reach of herself.

“It… was good, in a way,” she confessed, because it was.  “I’ve missed him so much.  It’s been years, and… I had forgotten what his voice sounded like.” She took a bite of one of the torn chunks of jerky that passed for the meat in the stew, but it tasted of ashes.  What would happen in a year –would she forget her mother’s voice?  What of five years?  Already it seemed like she couldn’t remember what her mother smelled like, her preferred perfumes and lotions and soaps.  These things, she had forgotten about her father.  She was losing her mother now, too.  Hawke blinked quickly and heavily, trying to clear her eyes of the tears that threatened.

“You are lucky, to have memories of your father,” Fenris told her.  “I would give much to have memories of my parents.  And you are lucky to have Carver, ass though he is.”  Carver was the one standing their rear guard, at the moment; Merrill just happened to be standing beside him, and the two were engaged in a quiet conversation together.  It didn’t look very serious; Merrill was smiling, and Carver wasn’t glowering. 

“He didn’t want me to have magic,” Hawke said, voice soft, and surprising herself.  This was precisely what she _didn’t_ want to talk about.  And she didn’t want to talk about it with _Fenris_. 

“Magic is… troublesome,” Fenris said, his voice matching hers in volume.  “It is so often used for ill.  I realize your father was using blood magic, here, but it was to protect you, and Leandra, not out of a desire for power. Did you never see him use it, later?”

“No.  Never.  We did not…”  She stopped and sighed, deeply.  “We had to be careful about how we used magic.  It was dangerous, for us to be caught.  So we didn’t use it a lot, especially when we lived closer to towns instead of on farms. If he used it, I didn’t see it, and I don’t think Bethany would have kept quiet about it.”

“I would prefer our Bethy not be a mage,” Fenris said, quietly.  “So I can understand how your father must have felt.  Magic is dangerous, even for you, Marian.”

“If he didn’t want me to have it… does that mean he loved me less, when it manifested?”  Hawke’s voice was barely more than a whisper, now. 

“No.”  Fenris’s voice was sure, confident, and strong.  He said the word hard, and loudly enough that it attracted attention for a moment.  When the others looked away, he lowered it.  “No, Marian.  I… I do not think that is how it works.  I don’t want Bethy to have magic, but if she does, I will love her no less.”  He fidgeted with the bowl and spoon for a moment.  “You are a very strange mage.  You are unlike any other I have known.  Even since coming to Kirkwall, it seems like every other mage turns into an abomination, or turns to blood magic.”  The slight shifting of his head told her that he was glancing towards first Anders, then Merrill.  “You were not raised to fear your magic, but to respect it, and its limits.  Perhaps that is what is missing in Kirkwall?”

“Fenris, are you starting to evolve your stance on magic and mages?”  Hawke arched a brow.  Fenris grumbled, but did not answer, instead busying himself with another spoonful of the stew.  She chuckled slightly and took a bite herself, feeling heartened at his confession.  If someone who hated magic as much as Fenris seemed to could not only love her, but love his own child, should she be a mage, then… Perhaps her father loved her, just as she was, and didn’t regret her.  She hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but it seemed like talking about it with Fenris was just what she needed.

After several quiet moments of them sitting side by side and eating their stew, Hawke gently nudged Fenris with her elbow.  “Thanks,” she muttered, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.  He didn’t quite turn to her, but she saw his hair move, as if he started to.

“It is nothing,” he assured her. “If you are done, I will go clean the bowls?”  Surprised, she handed it over to him.  Fenris volunteering to clean was nearly something to mark on the calendar.

Nearly as soon as Fenris moved away, Anders was there, sitting in his place.  He seemed nearly as disturbed as Hawke had felt inside, and he was muttering to himself a little bit. 

“Not listening… not listening…”

“Not listening to what, Anders?”  He gave a start and looked at her with wide eyes, almost as if he had forgotten he had seated himself beside her.

“Hawke,” he said, and put an arm around her shoulders for a moment, in a comforting hug.  “It must be overwhelming to hear your father’s voice again.  Are you feeling okay?”  She suppressed the sigh that wanted to escape her lips; obviously, they were all going to come and talk to her, and probably Carver, as well, in turn.  She wondered if Fenris had drawn the short straw.

“Father always liked to startle us, when we were children.  It would make us scream with laughter,” she said, smiling at the thought.  Anders withdrew his arm from around her and Hawke felt as if she could breathe again; if Fenris had seen that, there would probably have been a jealous tantrum, at the least.  She was going to have to have a talk with him about it.  “It’s nice to know that hasn’t changed.”

“My father was glad to send me to the Circle, when my magic manifested,” Anders confessed.  “He wasn’t a particularly good father, anyway, but… No matter.  I’ll be glad when we’re all able to get out of here and get to an inn.  Maker’s breath, but you need a bath.”

She laughed in mock indignation.  “ _I_ need a bath?  You, serah, _reek_.  And your feathers are molting.”

“I do not,” Anders replied, trying for dignified and missing it just slightly, but it was enough to cause her to laugh again.  Fenris shot them a suspicious glance and she gave him a smile that was an attempt to disarm his suspicions.  Fenris being Fenris, however, he simply deepened the suspicious look as he continued to wash the bowls.  Hawke wondered if it wouldn’t have been better for her to do that job, anyway.

“How are you doing down here?” she asked Anders.  Fair was fair; being down here, surrounded by darkspawn couldn’t be good for him, either.

“I’ll be happy to get out of here for more reasons than just hygiene,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees and fidgeting with his hands. 

“If I thought we could just press on, we would be,” Hawke told him, patting his arm companionably.  “If I thought we could go on without a rest…”  She stood up and shook her head, brushing off the dust and dirt from her robe.  “Speaking of rest, I’m going to lie down and see if I can’t get some.  Make sure someone wakes me up to take a watch?”

“Do you need more Healing?” he asked her, remaining seated and not quite looking up at her.

“I… do you mind?”

“Of course not.”  He stood then and rested his hands on either side of her head.  Merrill turned to look at them, probably sensing the magic use, and then went back to speaking to Carver.  Fenris, too, looked over at them, scowling for all he was worth, but most likely understanding that Anders was performing his Healing on Hawke.  It was the usual position that he took when he Healed someone.  Each mage seemed to have his or her own preferred method.  “You’re coming along well.  That was a bad wound you took, nearly as bad as the Arishok.  Worse, maybe, in its own way.  But I’ve got most of the layers Healed.  You’ll always have a scar, though.”

“And that robe is absolutely ruined.  No enchantments left on it at all.”  She scowled down at the robe she was wearing; it wasn’t her best, and some of the enchantment had already started wearing off because of previous tears in it.  “At least, with the gold we’ve found, I’ll be able to buy some new ones from Jean Luc when we get back.”

“Let’s hope these don’t get ruined as well,” Anders said, and then took his hands away from her head.  “Now, you go rest.  Healer’s orders.  And I’ll make sure that you get woken up for watch,” he finished, rolling his eyes.  Hawke grinned broadly; they all knew her so well!

The thin blanket was useless against the hard stone of the floor, but at least she had her little cell to lie in, even if it didn’t have a door.  Hawke was more than ready to be back home, in her estate.  Large, comfortable, clean bed.  Hot baths when she wanted them.  Bethy, in her arms, and Hero, at her feet.  Orana’s fresh cooking, and Bodahn’s always-cheerful tones.  Sandal, swinging from the chandelier.  They could not get home fast enough.

* * *

Contrary to his promise, Anders did not ensure that Hawke was awakened for a watch.  Instead, she woke up after a good six hours of straight sleep, which, while desperately needed, she resented. 

“You all can’t keep having me skip watch,” she complained to Isabela, who was sitting back against the wall with her ankles crossed.

“Sweet thing, you’re the one who was cut half open with her insides all hanging out.”  She was cleaning her nails with the point of a dagger, and obviously quite bored.  “You can’t skip sleep.  That’s the best thing for your Healing.  Remember the Arishok.”

“How can I forget the Arishok?” Hawke grumbled.  Fenris was sleeping now, and Anders was watching their rear while Merrill was watching their front.  Varric, too, was resting, although Isabela said he hadn’t been asleep long.  Carver was running a whetstone up and down his sword blade, a contemplative look on his face that she wasn’t used to seeing there.

“Then you know we’re only doing it for your own good,” Isabela said, and Hawke was surprised, because Isabela acting… well, nearly motherly, honestly… wasn’t typical. 

“Fine,” she muttered, rolling her shoulders and not trying to hide her irritation. 

“Fine,” Isabela agreed.  Hawke took a closer look at her; apparently, this place was even getting to the usually cheerful Isabela, because the pirate had the beginnings of dark smudges under her eyes, and her posture wasn’t as good as it normally was.   

“You need to sleep more, ‘Bela?  I’ll take watch.”  Isabela glanced towards Carver, who nodded slightly, and then she stood up. 

“I think I will.  You’re such a slave driver sometimes,” she said, and then grabbed up her pack to find someplace to settle down. 

“You okay?” Carver asked her, when quiet had descended once again.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Probably not,” Carver said.  “This hasn’t been the best trip for you, sister.  I keep finding myself wishing you’d have stayed home.”

“You know I couldn’t do that,” Hawke protested, gently.

“Do you think we couldn’t have handled this on our own?”

“It’s not that—“

“Well, it’s something like that,” Carver continued, ignoring her squawk of protest.  “Because you treat the rest of us like we don’t know how to handle things when we do.  You take away our choices, sometimes.”  She sat up straight, bristling.

“When have I ever taken away your choice, Carver Hawke?”

“You didn’t tell me you were pregnant,” he pointed out, taking some of the wind out of her sails.  “You should have, Marian.  You didn’t trust me, and I could have helped you.  I’d have done anything to help you.  Half the reason I joined the bloody Templars was to help keep you safe.”  He didn’t take his eyes off his blade, rasping the whetstone up and down it, although by now it was as sharp as it was going to get.  “You never trust me.  Always acting like you have to protect me, and forgetting that I’m an adult now, too.  I’m free to make my own mistakes.”

“Carver, I couldn’t… there was no way for me to know.  About you, and Bethy.”

“You didn’t even ask,” he countered.  “You didn’t even bother to bring it up.  I’m glad I ran into Merrill at The Hanged Man that evening because otherwise…”  He rolled his shoulders and flung the whetstone down onto the floor, where it made a sharp sound.  When he met her eyes, he looked as tired as she felt.  “Otherwise, you’d have trusted me.  You should trust us, Marian, all of us.”  Carver shook his head and bent forward to retrieve the whetstone.  “You shouldn’t have come, Marian.”

“Fenris—“

“Is a grown man who can take care of his own,” Carver groused, sheathing his blade and putting the whetstone away.  “Maybe if you’d let him take care of you instead of sticking your nose into everywhere, he’d have married you by now.”

“That… is unfair, and you know it.”

“No, it isn’t,” Carver retorted. 

“Our relationship is none of your concern, Carver,” Hawke pressed.  “You need to stay out of it.”

“You may be older than me, but you’re still not old enough to be off apron strings,” he snorted. 

“And you’re an ass,” Hawke shot back.

“I should kick your ass,” Carver told her.  “Maybe if I did, it’d knock some sense into that head of yours.”

“You couldn’t kick my ass if you wanted to,” Hawke told him, folding her arms under her breasts, brows drawing down in an angry scowl.

He tapped his breastplate, over the sword and sunburst symbol.  “Templar, remember?”

“I’d still manage to kick your ass, no matter how many silences you threw at me,” Hawke said.

“Boy,” came Fenris’s raspy drawl.  “If you so much as think of laying a finger on her, _I’ll_ kick _your_ ass.”  Hawke started, hand going to her throat, and then realized exactly how loudly she and Carver had gotten when she saw everyone, including Varric and Isabela, looking in their general direction.

“Do you _want_ to bring the darkspawn down on us?” Anders asked, a bare step away from angry.  “We don’t have any barriers up to stop sound.  The two of you shouting is enough to draw every single one of them nearby.”  Merrill was directing a frown at both of them. 

“Sorry,” Carver and Hawke both muttered at the same time, contritely.  He mumbled something else and then moved off over towards Merrill, while Hawke stayed sitting where she was.  It wasn’t the first time their friends had caught them arguing, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time, but Anders had a point: it was a very bad place to be arguing in.

Fenris just sat there, watching her, so Hawke sighed and stood up, making her way slowly over to where he was sitting up on the dirty blanket, and then plopped down beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest.

“I guess you heard that.”

“I think this ‘Corypheus’ probably heard that.”  They kept their voices quiet.  Nearby, Isabela and Varric had bedded back down, both seemingly intent on trying to catch a little bit more sleep.  Carver and Merrill stood with their heads together, talking softly, and Anders stood back as he was, so he could keep watch.

“Listen, Fenris—“

“ _Marian_ ,” he interrupted, and she sighed and rested her forehead against her knees.  “You do not need to explain anything to me.  Carver is trying your patience, and all of us have little patience to begin with, down here.”

“He just keeps bringing it up.”

“And why is the subject so distasteful to you?”

“You really want to do this here?”

“Not my first choice, exactly,” Fenris said, settling back and crossing his legs at the ankle.  He folded his hands neatly over his stomach.  “But your brother seems determined that we discuss it, even if we are in some sort of tainted Grey Warden prison for some sort of demon.”

“You realize that if we did… get married… he’d just find something new to complain about.”

“I’ve rarely seen you so upset after arguments than you’ve been about this particular topic, Marian.”

“It’s complicated,” she huffed.

“Why?”

Hawke rolled her eyes.  “Well, you tell _me_.”

“I… do not understand the question.”

She shook her head and pressed her face against her knees again.  “Listen, Fenris, I really don’t want to talk about this right now, right here, to you, or to anyone else who’s wanting to talk about it.  I just want Carver to stop harping.”

“Would you like for me to go kick his ass?”

She laughed, softly, shaking her head again.  “The last thing we need is to have to waste more mana Healing because we’re fighting amongst ourselves.”

“Lay with me,” Fenris said, patting the space beside him. 

“What?  Here?  With everyone watching?”  She winked at him and grinned saucily.  “Kinky.”

“That is not— _Marian_ ,” he chided, gently. 

“Darkspawn killing the mood?”  She moved to lay down where he indicated, pillowing her head on her arms.  Fenris chuckled.

“Something of that nature, yes,” Fenris deadpanned.

“Well, there’s always the next insanely-tainted Grey Warden prison with strange men and blood magic and seals and… madness,” she finished, lamely. Fenris slid his arm over her stomach and around her waist, pulling Hawke close.  She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.  Fenris had been shy about any sort of displays of affection at first, but now here he was, even holding her while their friends were nearby and could see.  He was certainly changing, it seemed, and for the better.

“Perhaps when we get home, after we have seen Bethy, Orana can watch her and we will not leave your room for several days,” Fenris suggested.  Hawke blinked, surprised, and pulled away from him enough so that she could look him in the face.

“What?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Not something I expected to hear from you,” she murmured, snuggling back against him, and he chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest hard enough that she could feel it through his breastplate.

“You are not the only one who wishes to be quit of this place, Marian.  Not all of my reasons are so simple as to be just due to the environment.”

“Good to know,” she said, and he chuckled again, kissing the top of her head.  Who was this, and what had he done with Fenris? She tilted her head slightly so that their lips met, and to her surprise he leaned into the kiss, curling his fingers around her waist so that the points of his clawed gauntlets dug into her back.  Hawke’s lips parted and Fenris slid his tongue between them, and she let out a needy groan, digging her own fingers into the bare skin of his arm where neither gauntlets nor armor covered.  Fenris shifted slightly, pressing her back and down against the floor, and brought one leg up to nudge her knees apart. 

Before Hawke could either stop him or proceed further, Carver coughed loudly and announced, in a ringing voice that the damned darkspawn could hear as easily as their arguing, “Get a room, you two.”  Now it was Fenris’s turn to groan, as he thumped his head back and covered his eyes with the palm of his hand, and Hawke sighed.  _Yes, thank you for reminding me we’re in the middle of some sort of tainted Grey Warden prison, Carver_ , she thought, bitterly.  _How nice of you to not give me a good ten minutes to forget my troubles._   The set of Fenris’s jaw told her he was thinking similar thoughts, although there was probably a lot more blood in them, and all over Carver, too.

“Sorry,” she muttered, although she wasn’t sure if she was sorry about Carver or about them being there or about their abrupt interruption or… Well, she just wasn’t sure.

“This is not the place for such activities,” he muttered back, keeping his hand over his eyes.  “No matter how frustrated I get.”

“I probably reek to the heavens, too,” Hawke said, with a visible wince.

“None of us smells good,” Fenris told her.  “But some of us smell worse than others.”

“Like Carver, you mean?”  She grinned and snuggled up against him, to rest her head on his chest.

“Your brother should make the acquaintance of soaps sometime,” Fenris said, in agreement. 

“And this is coming from the man who had corpses living in his front foyer.”

“How can they be living if they are corpses?”

“They just… can,” Hawke finished, lamely, and then poked him in the side.  “I didn’t do it, don’t ask me.”

“I am not the one who placed the corpses there,” Fenris protested, poking her back.  She peeked at him and saw a little tug of a smile playing at the corner of his lips, and grinned in return.

“You’re just the one who left them there,” Hawke replied.  His lips twitched again, as if he wanted to smile.

“You’re impossible, Hawke,” Fenris said, clearly trying to change the subject, and it was her turn to chuckle.

“I’m impossible, but you love me anyway.”  That wasn’t exactly a term they tended to use.  In fact, it was a term they tended to stay far away from.  But Fenris merely smiled one of his real smiles and tightened his hold on her.

“What gave me away?”

* * *

 

“Does anyone know where that Larius got off to?” Hawke asked the group, in general, once they had all felt rested enough and had eaten a second time.  It was strange to her, that Larius had not stayed with them, but had crept away.  Not that they went looking for him particularly hard, but he was the only sort of guide they seemed to have, and she would have personally, rather had him there than… well, wherever he had gotten to.  There was also the fact that Hawke just didn’t trust him.  It was strangely fortuitous, how he had shown up just when they needed someone to help them get out. 

“I saw him once,” Anders spoke up, and Carver added that he had seen him, also.  “He just hobbled around out there, really,” he continued, giving a slight shrug.  Hawke frowned to herself at the look in Anders’s eyes; he looked haunted, to say the least, like he was a million miles away. 

“You alright, Anders?” she asked him, voice quiet and pitched for his ears, only.

“I… will be fine.  It’s the darkspawn, I think, and the taint.  Wherever we are must be near the Deep Roads.  The call of the archdemon is always worse, there.”  He sounded like a man who wasn’t all there.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to tell me,” Hawke said, putting a hand on his shoulder.  He gave her a vague, distant smile before patting said hand and moving on.  This caused Hawke to frown all the more; Anders, despite knowing where Hawke’s affections lay, had never quite given up the enjoyment of any sort of physical contact between the two.  If he was all but ignoring friendly gestures…  She would just watch him that much more closely.  That’s all she could do.

They fell into a sort of pattern, with the fighting.  One good thing about fighting darkspawn was that darkspawn were, fundamentally, stupid.  Unless they let themselves be overwhelmed, Hawke and her crew did just fine, with the mages and Varric able to do most of the damage from range, and their three melee fighters doing little more than throat-cutting, after a certain point.  And the darkspawn didn’t seem to really work together, for all that they attacked _en_ _masse_ , which made them easier to pick off.  Short breaks after each major group killed gave them the opportunity to get their breath back, and Hawke, Anders, and Merrill managed to keep everyone with water that was as fresh as possible, all things considered. 

So it was that they came to the second seal, and so it was that they had little trouble there, either, even if the strange Pride demon-like entity seemed to multiply itself and give them more targets.  The fighting stance they had all gotten into had to be broken, but even with that, the fighting seemed to go somewhat easier, making Hawke believe that it wasn’t truly a Pride demon they were facing.

Rarely had she caught sight of Larius, but he did his odd, shuffling hop back towards them once Hawke had brought down the second of the barriers.  He seemed excited, if that was a term that could be applied to someone who was only subsisting because of the darkspawn taint in his blood.

“He is waking!” Larius said, and she couldn’t tell if it was fear or joy that spurred his words.  “The magic… grows lax.”

“Well, that’s bloody wonderful, isn’t it?” Carver asked, voice thick with sarcasm.  Larius looked at him, with those dulled eyes, and Carver shuffled slightly and readjusted the greatsword on his back. 

“You’re talking about Corypheus?” Hawke asked, moving so that she was in front of the group and keeping the others back as best she could. 

“He calls.  Like an old god, he mimics their cry.”  Anders made a sudden, startled noise then, and all heads whipped towards him.

“That’s… So, it’s _not_ the archdemon!”

“Anders?” Hawke asked, turning more fully towards him but trying to keep Larius in her sight as well. 

“I… Thought that maybe I was hearing the archdemon because we were getting further into the Deep Roads,” Anders confessed.  “It’s… overwhelming, at times.”

“So the abomination is hearing voices,” Fenris said, voice dripping with contempt.  “Why am I not surprised?”  Hawke shot him a dark look and Fenris returned the look with interest.  She wished she could take him aside and give him a good talking-to, but now was not the time.

“Just remember that we’re on your side, Anders,” she said, warmly, to the other mage.  No one missed the jealous scowl Fenris put on, or how he shouldered his way out of the press of the group and stood to the side, looking down.  Well, now was not the time to be dealing with a snit.  Fenris needed to get it together.

“If this ‘Corypheus’ isn’t an old god,” Hawke addressed to Larius.  “What is he, then?  Demon?  Darkspawn?”

“More than darkspawn.  More than _human_ ,” Larius told her, making vague gestures. “He thinks.  He talks.  He _pierces the veil_.”

“An awakened darkspawn emissary?” Anders asked, sounding surprised and not unfamiliar with the concept.

“The emissaries are the magic users, right?” she asked him, and when he nodded, she went on.  “So, what does it mean if they’re ‘awakened’?”

“We met one, back in Amaranthine,” Anders told her, fidgeting with the hems of his sleeves.  She noticed that her robes weren’t the only ones that had taken a beating.  “It was… It was sort of grotesque, actually.  He called himself ‘The Architect’ and he imprisoned us and took our blood.  He was doing experiments, trying to give darkspawn the intelligence that humans and elves and dwarves possessed, trying to ‘awaken’ them, just like we… Well, Grey Warden secrets,” he finished, somewhat hollowly.  “Suffice it to say that Commander Surana didn’t let The Architect live.  If this is another one like him, I’d suggest we don’t let _him_ live, either.” 

“He’s asleep, you said?” Hawke addressed Larius.  “How can he be sending people after us if he’s asleep?”

“He can call, dream, but not know.  When the seals are gone…”

Hawke made an impatient gesture.  “I get that part, Larius.  But if he’s more than darkspawn and more than human, and some sort of intelligent emissary like Anders is saying, we’ll need to go in prepared.”

“The Commander went in as prepared as she could be, and still took heavy hits,” Anders warned.  “And you could put me, you, and Merrill all together and not be as strong as mage as the Commander is.”

“Just what we need,” Fenris said, loud enough to be heard the few feet away.  “A _thinking_ darkspawn mage.”

“Well, we’re going to kill it, somehow,” Hawke promised.  “The only other option is not getting out of here alive.”

“That’s not an option I like, sweet thing,” Isabela put in.  “If we’re all done standing around and chatting, maybe we can get on with killing this thing.  I think I need a bath.”

“Good idea,” Hawke said, and when Isabela gave her an amused look, she couldn’t help but grin back.  “Killing it _and_ the bath, of course.  You’re not the only one who’s tired of reeking of Eau de Darkspawn.”

Larius seemed to have slipped off again, while they were talking, and Hawke merely sighed internally at that and shrugged just a little bit physically before gesturing towards Isabela to take point.  They hadn’t find anything in the way of traps down here, but the rogues would be put out if neither of them were allowed to go first in such an unknown place, and, truthfully, Hawke didn’t exactly welcome the idea of having her legs nearly snapped off again, or of being caught in a fiery blast simply because she was too foolish to let those who knew what to look for go first.

Following Isabela down corridors and down stairs (that were surprisingly darkspawn-free, which was somewhat worrisome, once Hawke decided to dwell on it), Hawke tried to catch Fenris’s attention, but he seemed to resolutely be looking anywhere other than at her, and so she simply shook her head and continued on.  If he wanted to be that way, she could not stop him.  If they wound up having to go so long down here that they needed to camp again, Hawke vowed to take him aside privately and discuss why he should leave Anders alone right now.  And, remind him that there was no reason for him to be jealous of anyone.

This part of the prison looked very different from the others, almost as if it weren’t truly built.  More than any part of it, _this_ reminded Hawke of tunnels and the Deep Roads, although it had very little in the way of carving or dwarven architecture.  What was most confusing were the already-lit torches and the strange, lizard-like creatures that attacked them in bigger waves than the darkspawn would.  These, too, were stupid, or else not inclined to work together, probably possessing only a base animal intelligence, and they were also relatively easy to kill, with each one only needing a couple of blows or an especially intense fire spell to get rid of it.  However, they seemed _endless_ , there for a time, and Hawke and her crew made very little headway for having to fight against the bloody things.  Neither did they have to retreat, though, and after the last one had finally died, Anders went up to it and kicked it solidly with a boot, which only served to separate its head from the rest of the torso with a wet “thudding” sort of noise that earned him glares from Hawke and Merrill.

“Not even worth looting,” Isabela said, with a grimace.  It was true; there was nothing these little things could carry of value, especially not their skins, which were revolting, at best.

“This nails it,” Anders said, to no one in particular.  “We’re definitely near the Deep Roads.  Those were deepstalkers, and you only get them there.”

“They’re disgusting,” Hawke said, tone mimicking the word, and there was a general sense of agreement from the others.

“You know what their heads look like,” Isabela said.  “They look like pen—“

“ _Thank you_ , ‘Bela,” Hawke said, putting an end to that line of discussion.

“Spoilsport,” ‘Bela muttered, but she did stop making comparisons between the deepstalkers’ heads and certain parts of male anatomy.

* * *

 

Other than their odd surroundings (somewhat foggy, with an eerie green light everywhere that washed them all out and made them look ghoulish, and craggy stalactites and stalagmites everywhere) it was very much like they had done previously: pushing through waves of darkspawn, although now there were giant spiders and deepstalkers added to the mix.  The darkspawn were a lot stronger than the ones that dwelt higher up, however, and Anders told them, in a sour voice, that they were stronger because they were further down and probably more tainted.  Hawke did not know if this was true or not, but she wasn’t going to argue with Anders.

They continued stuffing everything they could find into their packs, and even into the spare packs that were usually carried along for overflow, to the point that all of them were bogged down with the treasures they were finding.  It seemed especially important to bring along the journals that they were finding next to dead dwarven bodies.  Varric muttered over those, and spoke about the Legion of the Dead and possible connections to his Tethras ancestors, and Hawke wasn’t going to be the one to tell him not to bring potentially priceless dwarven records along with him up to the surface.  They might have been the only non-darkspawn and non-Warden things that had been in those… caverns? Whatever they were… for centuries.

Then there was a strange altar that seemed to want some of the things they found placed on it.  Hawke wasn’t sure what that accomplished, but prior to doing the ritual everyone, her included, had complained of hearing strange voices, and after doing the ritual, or whatever it was, it seemed to be a little bit more silent, and so Hawke wasn’t going to look a gift mysterious-altar-in-a-tainted-Grey-Warden-prison in the mouth at that point.  This strange place was stranger than the previous floors and they got turned around and lost worse than they already were several times, and all of them were developing a bone-deep exhaustion from the fighting and walking on top of the relatively poor quality sleep and even poorer meals.  The strain all of that had put on them was becoming nigh unbearable, and the strange voices were ratcheting the tension level higher and higher.  If doing a strange and somewhat alien ritual was enough to take away one of the tension-causing factors in that scenario, Hawke was glad to have done it.

“This looks… wetter… than I’m used to the Deep Roads being,” Anders said, after they came out onto a low causeway-esque area that was surrounded by water that looked foul and smelled worse.

“It doesn’t look like that thaig we found those years ago,” Hawke said in agreement.

“I don’t like the looks of this place,” Varric said, a sentiment that was echoed by all of them.

Fenris had been hanging back more, not daring to come up to speak with Hawke, but he spoke now.  “We should move on,” he said, in that tone that he used that brooked no nonsense. 

“It’s not like we were planning on lingering,” Hawke muttered, but she was fairly certain no one heard her but herself.  Whatever was irritating Fenris was starting to eat at Merrill, too; both of the elves were growing surlier, with even the good-natured Dalish snapping at them all, including Carver.

When they ran across a dwarf who was on the other side of the causeway, off to the side a bit, Varric trotted up to loot the body, as he had been wont to do, only to come up short when he pulled out the ratty, somewhat dampened journal.

“This… this is Tethras Garen,” Varric said, in a voice near to awe.  “Hawke…. Just give me a minute, please?”

“Take all the time you need,” she replied, albeit slightly insincerely.  She ushered everyone away from where Varric was standing, saying something in a soft tone that sounded Dwarven, if she knew anything at all about the language.  They stood around awkwardly for a few minutes, none daring to scout too far, not even the nearly fearless Isabela, until Varric came back.  He was uncharacteristically quiet, and when he did speak it sounded like there were tears in his voice, so nobody prodded him too closely.  They were all too ready to get out, and questions could be saved for later.

It was relatively quiet, except for a few of those heavily-shielded genlocks, up the causeway stairs and onto the big, empty plain that was at the top.  Hawke was suspicious, though; there was a large fire going in the middle of the largest flat area, and she frowned to herself as she scanned the area through the smoke, odd fog, and eerie green light.

“I don’t think there’s anyone—“

An arrow flew over her head, and she instinctively ducked down.  “Well, I guess we’re not alone,” she said, trying to keep the exhaustion from her voice.  They were back to the grindstone, fighting for each step through darkspawn that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.  Once they reached a relatively quiet part, however, Anders fell to his knees, grabbing his head.

“Stop it, stop it,” he muttered, shaking his head roughly, to the point where the tail he kept his hair back in came loose.

“Hang in there, Blondie,” Varric said, patting him on the back.  “We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Do you need a break, Anders?  We can pull back, if you want to stop.”  He stayed there, slumped on his knees for a few moments, before heaving a sigh and standing roughly, not bothering to brush the dirt and rubble off the knees of his trousers.

“We need to keep going,” he said.  “But it’s… it’s hard, Hawke.”

“Just let me know,” she told him.  It was only a few steps later when Anders cried out and fell to his knees again.  “Anders?” Hawke called back, rushing to his side.

“I… I can’t… the voices…”

“We can take a break,” she promised him, but Anders didn’t seem to be listening to her. 

“The Wardens… the Joining… I have too much taint in my blood,” Anders said, begging her to understand.  “I can’t shut him out!”  The heels of his palms were pressed hard against his ears.  “I… I will not….”  Abruptly, Anders stood, glowing blue from every part of himself, and Hawke found herself taking several steps back.  “Be controlled!” he finished, except it was Justice, now, and not Anders.

“Let it go!” Hawke shouted at him, bringing the key-staff around in front of her in case Justice attacked.  “There’s a better way to fight him!”  Anders slammed his staff down onto the ground, Justice in full control and not recognizing friend from foe.  He brought the staff around and aimed it at Hawke, and just as quickly as he did that, Hawke was being pushed out of the way and Fenris was rushing past her, the pommel of his sword swiftly making contact with the side of Anders’s head.

The battle was quick, with the intent being more along the lines of stopping Justice from attacking further and retaining control of Anders than actually hurting the mage, although Hawke knew that Fenris wouldn’t be too hurt if Anders took no small amount of harm from the fight.  Within minutes, Justice had fled, and the blue glow was gone from Anders’s eyes and skin.  Anders lay flat on his back, blinking his eyes quickly and probably in possession of one massive headache, if the way he clutched at his head was anything to go by.

“You okay now?” Hawke asked him, but from a good distance.

“I… Yes,” he replied, pushing himself up to sitting.  “I guess it’s true, what they say about the Wardens.  You really can never leave.”

“Can you hold against it, Anders?”

“I hope I can,” the other mage said, finally getting to his feet with Carver’s dubious help.  “I’ll do my best.”

“Just warn us the next time Justice decides to make an appearance,” Hawke said, trying to keep her voice light and knowing the joke fell relatively flat.

“You had better,” Fenris growled, keeping his eyes on Hawke as if accessing her for any real injury.  She sighed and shook her head at him, which only caused him to scowl and dart his eyes away. 

“I think the next seal is just up ahead,” Hawke told them.  “Maybe we can get this over with?”

Indeed, the seal was just up ahead, guarded by another faux Pride demon, and this was the hardest one of them all, although mainly because of how tired they were all feeling, although the battle was still not as difficult as some they had been doing.  The line where she had been cut open was burning from breast to hip, though, and Hawke was afraid they would have to find someplace to camp out and rest, and was about to call for a halt, when Larius appeared again.

“He feels the seals weaken!  He knows you are close!  You must be ready,” Larius pleaded.

“I’ll be ready,” Hawke promised.  She still didn’t trust this man.  He gave her the creeps.

“Oh no!  They’re here!  They’re _here_!” Larius said, nearly jumping up and down in his despair.

“Who is it this time?  Puddles the Turtle?  The Holy Cheesewheel of Andraste?”

“The Wardens,” Larius hissed.  “Stop them!  You _must_ stop them!”  He wandered off again and all Hawke could do was shrug and start to follow him when she heard both footsteps and voices that sounded too real to be imagined.

Before they had gone very far, a group of people in matching armor –Grey Warden issue? —came around the corner, being led by a woman with her brown hair pulled back into a neat tail, with a no-nonsense look on her face and a mage staff strapped to her back. 

“Ah.  These must be our Wardens,” Hawke said, to no one in specific.

“You!” the leader said, coming forward.  “You have the key!  But… how?”

“I’m Hawke,” she said, taking a half step back. 

“The Champion?  Hawke?  Child of Malcolm Hawke, yes?”

“What do you know about our father?” Carver asked, stepping forward to stand next to his sister.  Hawke felt, more than saw, the rest of them shift into best position for being attacked.  These Wardens were not mindless, like the darkspawn, and they would wind up taking worse casualties if they weren’t careful and the Wardens decided they were enemies.

“I am Janeka,” the woman said, avoiding the question.  “I lead these Grey Wardens.  We could use your help.” 

“Seems like everyone is interested in your father,” Varric said, loud enough to carry.

“You do not know?  Truly?  Without your father, this prison would have fallen nearly thirty years ago,” Janeka said. 

“Let me guess: it had something to do with this fancy thing?”  Hawke jerked her thumb at the key-staff.

“The Grey Wardens built this prison to contain one of the most powerful darkspawn ever discovered. But, even the best magic fades, and the Wardens needed to reinforce the seals.  Your father helped us with that.”

“My father was a blood mage?”  She could not stop the incredulity from lacing her words.

“Not how you think of it, no.  As far as I know, the only blood magic he ever did was reinforcing the seals here.  Of course, what he did after leaving Warden custody is unknown to me, but he was chosen because he was an apostate and untainted by Warden blood, not because he was a blood mage.”

Hawke looked over at Carver.  “Why do our family stories never involve embarrassing vacations in Antiva?”

“We need your help, children of Malcolm Hawke,” Janeka continued, ignoring the looks she was getting from the others as well as their tired conditions.  “I have done extensive research and I believe that the conclusions drawn about this darkspawn were wrong.  I think that if we release it, we can reason with it and help avert all Blights in the future.”

“Don’t listen to them!  Corypheus lies!” Larius said, appearing from nowhere as was his modus operandi.

“The Warden Commander!” one of the men with Janeka said, in reverent tones.

“Don’t listen to this creature,” Janeka sneared.  “He’s half darkspawn himself, by now.  The taint has grown in him too long.”  She turned to Hawke, in pleading arrogance.  “ _I_ know how to harness Corypheus.  Use his magic, put an end to all the Blights.  And I need your help.  I _will_ have your help, whether you consent or not, child of Malcolm Hawke.”  Behind her, Hawke heard the unsheathing of various blades and the tell-tale sound of Bianca getting cocked. Hawke vaguely felt sorry for Janeka; should the woman decide to attack, she knew that Fenris would show absolutely no mercy because of the threat against her person.

“Don’t do it, Hawke,” Anders said, behind and to her right.  “Remember, Commander Surana killed The Architect.  I was there.  She knew even then that you can’t trust thinking darkspawn.”

“Corypheus calls her, and she listens,” Larius said.  “She brought the Carta!”

“You must help us!” Janeka demanded.

“I don’t think I ‘must’ help you in anything, actually,” Hawke said, gripping her staff tightly.  “I’m certainly not going to help you free some darkspawn mage so that we can talk it into helping us end the Blights!”

“We’ll find a way to do this, with or without you, Hawke,” Janeka warned.  “The prison will be broken.  The Blights _will_ end.”  She moved backwards several steps and then flung her hand out in front of her, summoning a wall of fire to separate her group of Wardens from Hawke, Larius, and her crew.  Hawke did not even try to dampen the flames any.

“Well, looks like we have more fun to look forward to,” she said, with a resigned sigh, and gestured for the others to follow her as she made her way around the tall wall of fire.  Larius disappeared ahead of them again, and Hawke did not even bother to think of where he was disappearing off to now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much less game dialogue! Much swifter action! This chapter wound up being over 17,000 words, so I cut it directly in half. The *next* chapter, I swear they get back to Kirkwall, and I know because it's already written and will be posted in just a few minutes!


	23. Home Again, Home Again, Vinmarks Are Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke, Fenris, and crew travel back to Kirkwall, now that they are quit of the Vinmarks. Bathtime ensues. Bathtime is rated "M" for mature audiences. Do not read bathtime if you are not of age in the place that you live to read such bathtime goings-on.
> 
> There is a lot of fluff in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an explicit chapter, for explicit things between consenting adults. If you are not old enough to read about such things, you shouldn't be reading this fic to begin with. If you object to such things but still kinda like the fic, ignore the bathtime part.
> 
> Viewer Discretion is Advised

There were more than just darkspawn in this new prison area, they soon discovered.  There were carta dwarves who were only too happy to set up traps, including breaking the traps that the prison itself had and causing them to have to work out puzzle after puzzle in order to escape rooms they were trapped _in_.  Hawke desperately wanted to stop and rest, but they were obviously getting close now.  Perhaps the Grey Wardens did have stamina that the rest of them didn’t quite have, or perhaps it was just easier for them to rest, surrounded by darkspawn and tainted everything everywhere, but Hawke didn’t want to give this Janeka any more head start than she already had, and that meant they were going to have to push through exhaustion and hunger.  The only thing she permitted were quick stops to drink as much as they could hold of fresh water, and grab small bites out of the travel rations they still had left over, for it would be impossible to go on without themselves being replenished at all, not and expect to fight at least one fight at the end.

In addition to all the fun and wonderful _old_ types of enemies they had to face, Janeka summoned revenants and shades along the way, which were not, upon considering, fun _or_ wonderful.  One of the revenants managed to pull Hawke all the way across the room, grinding her flesh against the stone and scraping it in several places, as well as putting holes in her robe where holes did not need to be.  Luckily for her, Fenris was there to take the thing down.  He saved her from so many different forms of attack so often, Hawke knew she owed him, and she knew that whatever had ruined his mood wasn’t her.  It didn’t make him easier to deal with, but at least it wasn’t _her_ , personally.

At the top of a long staircase, Hawke paused to take in the, admittedly creepy, scenery.  Varric stopped by her and heaved a sigh.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Varric said.  She arched a brow and glanced down at him.

“What’s nice about it?” she asked.

“I was just wondering what someplace sinister and foreboding would look like,” he replied. 

“It could be worse?” she asked.

“How could it be worse?”

“It could be raining.”

He huffed a bitter laugh and followed her across the bridge.

“You’re too late, Larius.”  They heard Janeka before they saw her, but the woman followed her words out onto the path of the bridge, halting any chance they had to move forward.

“How did I know you were going to come back and bite us in the ass?” Hawke asked, irritated, but Janeka ignored her.

“Hand over Hawke and I’ll make your death quick,” she told the old warden.

“Hawke has made her choice.  The _right_ choice,” Larius declared.

“The right choice?  Or the _only_ choice?  Malcolm Hawke was not allowed to disagree.”

“What?” Hawke asked, baffled.

“He didn’t tell you?” Janeka smirked. 

“I had no choice, and I could give him no choice,” Larius said, pleading.

“Larius,” Hawke said, brooking no hedging.

“I… Malcolm Hawke was… reluctant.  Had to persuade him.  It was my _duty_.  I was Warden Commander.  Delivered an ultimatum—help us or you’ll never see her again.”

“You threatened to kill my mother if he didn’t help?!”  Hawke saw red, and only Carver’s hand grabbing her elbow stopped her from smacking the old man across the head with her staff and possibly starting some sort of inter-Warden incident.  She was _enraged_.  A gentle touch on her other arm told her that Fenris knew exactly how angry she was and that he was there if she needed him.  Her heart swelled with love for an instant before cold anger overtook it again.

“He came with us!  It never came to that!” Larius said, and Janeka’s smirk grew all the wider.

“You see, Hawke?  How can you trust in what he said after knowing what he did to your father?”  She took in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to block out the implications of Janeka’s words.

“It doesn’t matter what he did before, Janeka,” Hawke finally said, grinding her back teeth.  “What matters now is that I’m not going to help you free that thing.  My father thought it was best to keep it imprisoned, and so I will, too.”

“You can come willingly or not, Hawke.  I just need your blood.”

The battle that ensued was not short, and it was bloody, very bloody.  As she had feared, fighting against the Wardens –who were not tired, who were not mindless, who were willing to fight together, who had better arms and armor than the darkspawn and creatures they had been facing—was much more difficult than their previous fights had been, and all of them took some severe injuries during the course of the fight, for all that it was Janeka and half a dozen Wardens against themselves.  That Janeka was a powerful mage did not help, much, and she was particularly gifted with fire.  All of them were suffering from some severe burns once the fight was over, and Hawke and Anders went through several vials of lyrium, nearly the last of their stock, making sure everyone was Healed up properly.

For what was ahead of them was surely the last of the seals, the one holding this Corypheus.  Hawke could nearly see his form in there, suspended in the energy, and once the three points around the center platform were discharged, Corypheus came more into being.  Hopefully, she thought, they could kill this thing and then head home with little fight along the way.  Hawke popped off the top of a healing potion, just in case and to help speed things up better, hoping to save the rest of her mana for later.

Corypheus, if this _was_ Corypheus, was hideously ugly and _huge_.  He was taller than an ogre, from what she could tell, and looked anything but human.  The thing hovered above the dais, looking around.

“Be this some dream I wake from?  Are these dwarven lands? Why seem their roads so empty?” the thing asked.  He pointed at Hawke.  “You!  Serve you at the temple of Dumat?  Bring me hence.  I must speak with the First Acolyte!”

“Dumat?” Anders asked, incredulous, and she heard Fenris curse somewhere behind her.  “There haven’t been temples to Dumat since ancient Tevinter!”  Beside her, Carver had drawn his sword and was in battle stance.  She suspected the others were ready to attack, too.

On the dais, Corypheus was going on about them looking human, and something about dwarven slaves.  The thing didn’t sound like any darkspawn Hawke had ever been around.  “Is this thing like the Architect?” she asked Anders.

“In looks, at least.  But he seems confused, like he truly was asleep,” came the answer.

“Why come you here?” Corypheus asked.  “Whoever you be, you owe fealty to any magister of Tevinter.  On your knees!  All of you!”  Fenris positively growled behind her, and Hawke prayed for a moment that he wouldn’t do anything rash.

“You’re a darkspawn,” Hawke said to the thing, slowly, as if explaining to a small child.  “Dark.  Spawn.  Ravaging the Deep Roads?  Spreading the Blight?  Sound familiar?”

“You are what held me.  I smell the blood in you.”  He looked around again.  “Dumat!  Lord!  Tell me!  What waking dream is this?”  He turned away from Hawke and her group, and they shared a look.  “The Light.  We sought the golden light.  The throne of the gods themselves.  But it was black.  Corrupt.  Darkness, ever since.  How long?”

“The golden city,” Larius said.  “The first violation.  The magisters who brought the Blight.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Anders countered.  “There were no magical boogeymen who trespassed into the Maker’s city.  That’s a fairy story.”

“The original Magisters?  It is their depravities that today’s Magisters strive to live up to.”  Ah, well.  Of course they’d have to have a debate about mage rights during their idyllic vacation in the sunny Vinmark Grey Warden prison.  It wouldn’t be a trip with Fenris and Anders without one.  “You don’t think a magister would be arrogant enough to challenge the Maker?”

“It’s Chantry propaganda,” Anders argued.

“Well, where do _you_ think the darkspawn came from?” Hawke asked Anders, more to keep the mage talking and try to buy them some time than for an actual desire for a philosophical discussion when they were potentially faced with a who-knows-how-many-years-old original Tevinter magister.

“Some creation of the Old Gods, no doubt,” Anders said, nonchalantly.

“If he’s been calling the Wardens to free him, what’s his plan?” Hawke asked, trying to step away from the subject.  “He seems confused.”

“Dumat!” Corypheus called out.  “Have you forsaken me?  I am your faithful servant!”

“The darkspawn aren’t just some conveniently explicit lesson on the dangers of magic,” Anders said, but it sounded, to Hawke, like he was trying to convince himself as much as convince her.

“The city!” Corypheus snarled.  “It was supposed to be golden!  It was supposed to be ours!”  He turned and faced Hawke, and she swallowed hard.  The thing was rough to look at.  “What manner of speech is this you use?  How long have I slumbered?”

“He slept,” Larius said.  “While the seals held, he could not wake.  He knows nothing of the time that has passed.”

“First he went after the Maker in his house.  And then me, in mine.  I’m honored,” Hawke said, vacantly.

“If I cannot leave with you, I will leave through you!” Corypheus howled, rising up above them once again.  Hawke drew back, brandishing her staff, and she knew the others were preparing for battle, too.  “I seek the light!”

He descended from the dais, calling out, “I made your sacrifices, Lord!  Strengthen me now!”  Hawke jumped back, clumsily, but managed to catch herself before she fell, and then the battle began. 

The fight was one that she would remember for months afterwards, because of how long it went on and how difficult it was.  They all fell unconscious, several times throughout the fight, and only Anders’s quick thinking and swiftness with Healing magic, or her own abilities at rousing, kept them from death’s door, kept them alive to continue fighting.

He sent out long waves of fire, circling around, and Hawke and her crew barely managed to stay ahead of the things, or behind them, depending on how one looked at these types of things.  It was Varric who had the brilliant idea to use the key on the power nexuses located throughout the strange prison room, and Hawke did each of them as she had done the seals before.  This seemed to weaken Corypheus somewhat, or at least, it weakened him enough that he left the center of the dais and came out to face them once again, leaving the protection of his barrier.

Hawke flung every spell she could think of at the thing, but it seemed as if they did little damage.  Even the physical attacks of the three melee fighters seemed to do little in the way of damage, but they knew they were slowly wearing him down when he retreated behind his barrier once again, and Hawke noted, this time, that the barrier was being fueled with the power nexuses.  _Smart thinking, Varric_.

This time, he summoned a maze of large ice stalagmites, jutting from the stone and completely untouched by the fire that Corypheus continued to stream around the prison, nor the fire that Hawke attempted to direct at it.  The maze was inconvenient, and trapped them several times as they tried to make their way around to the individual power nexuses.  One time, the flows of fire caught them, and Hawke shrieked as it burned, barely getting a barrier up in time to keep from getting any more severe damage to herself or the others.

The entire time, the ancient magister was yelling praises to his Dumat, begging for strength and power, and the others were calling back and forth, trying to check on each other and call out strategies for fighting against the thing.  Once Hawke had hit the third power nexus statue, the magister appeared again, his barrier dropping, and they proceeded to throw everything they had at him for a second time. 

Hawke knew that she was getting winded, and she knew that she wasn’t the only one.  She _knew_ they had to get this guy down and get him down quickly, but Corypheus seemed to have different plans.  He drew back behind his barrier again, beseeching Dumat to grant him his powers.  Suddenly, electricity was flowing through the ice maze, and they had to contend with finding their way through the maze towards each of the power nexuses amidst flames and electricity.  Several times she was shocked when she came too close, but in her exhaustion she was getting clumsier, and she knew she wasn’t the only one suffering from electrical burns.

When the third nexus fell for the third time, Duma appeared before them again.  “You are stronger than I thought, but not strong enough!” he declared, flinging more magefire at them, but Hawke was tired, and she was pissed off.  This… this _thing_ presumed to take her blood, to go into the golden city and turn it black, to enslave an entire race of people?  This thing threatened her _in her home_ , threatened her daughter?  No.  This Corypheus was going _down_.  If she had to use every last bit of energy in her body, and drain herself of mana to the point where she could never cast again and made herself Tranquil in the process, _she would see Corypheus fall_.

“If he pulls a dragon out of his ass, I’m leaving,” Varric shouted, full of good cheer, and Hawke grinned broadly and thumbed away a smear of blood from the corner of her mouth.  Leave it to Varric to keep things light.

Suddenly, Fenris got his greatsword through Corypheus’s back on one side, and Carver managed to sweep at his feet from the other side, just as he spouted a new coat of arrows and one of Isabela’s daggers ended up in his shoulder.  The smell of cooking magister and roasting darkspawn filled the air with a vile stench, and Hawke took the opportunity to down a vial of lyrium before flinging a fireball at him, with the last of her failing strength.  A bolt of electricity followed, which caused the ancient magister to fall to his knees, and then she clenched her fist, freezing him in a block of ice before leaping forward and drawing her belt knife to stab him in the eye.  Carver’s sword came down hard after that, severing one of the thing’s arms, and Fenris followed with another stab through its back and into its gut. 

By the time they all drew back, in various states of exhaustion, covered in blood, sweat, burns, freezes, and shocks, the thing was dead there.  Merrill ran forward and checked it over for a pulse, smiling in satisfaction when she found none, and Hawke leaned heavily on the key-staff, trying to calm her racing heart and labored breathing.  Fenris came up to her and rested a gauntleted hand on her shoulder and his forehead against hers, and they both closed their eyes.  A sudden clap on her back heralded Carver, who let that be the extent of his interruption.

“We did it,” she whispered to Fenris.  “Bethy is safe.  I’m safe.”

“You are safe,” he agreed, whispering as well.

Isabela seemed to have taken the opportunity to loot the thing, as she was wont to do, because suddenly Anders exclaimed out, “That amulet!  No one has used a design like that since before the First Blight!”  Hawke withdrew just slightly from Fenris and looked over to where the mage was standing with the pirate, both of them examining an amulet.  “The design was limited to a small sect in Tevinter, who worshipped the old god Dumat.  He… he really _was_ an ancient magister.”  The disbelief in his voice was apparent.

“They’re no myth, mage,” Fenris spat, obviously not happy with Anders and probably for the usual reasons.  “Nor have the magisters changed.”

“I always thought the Black City was just a story,” Anders said, unhappily.

“Even if it’s true, it doesn’t matter now,” Hawke said, trying to stand up straight.  Larius was loitering across the bridge, and Hawke knew she had to go speak with him.  The idea was more palatable than getting involved in another debate over mage rights with Anders and Fenris.  Fenris wasn’t as bad about the subject if Anders wasn’t around, but the mage brought out the worst in him, and Hawke, whose hobbling wasn’t very good at the moment, to say the least, didn’t feel like getting involved.  The others seemed to be following and leaving Anders and Fenris to their bickering; no one wanted to get involved in _that_ right now.

Larius turned away from Hawke and stood up straight.  That took her a bit aback; he had been hunched over so badly, before.  “You did well, Hawke,” he said, and his voice sounded both stronger and more clear than it had been.  “More than the Grey Wardens of old were able to accomplish.  I will tell the Warden Commander of your service here.”

“Larius?  You sound… different.”

“With Corypheus gone, and his song not singing, I am more myself again,” Larius answered, back still to Hawke.  “Now, I must go.  My thanks you have, for releasing me.”  He walked off ahead of them, not shuffling and with a straight back.  He never looked back at them once, and Hawke was too tired to press on and catch up with him, to find out the truth of what was different.

“I think it’s time for us to find a place to set up camp,” she said, instead.  “With Corypheus dead and the seals brought down, we should be able to get back out of here without much difficulty, but I don’t think we’re going to make it back without another rest.”  She worked her neck from side to side and winced at the loud “pop” that it made.  “And I think we’ve cleared out most of the darkspawn, as it is.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Varric said, and he sounded as tired as she did.

“No arguments from me, sister,” Carver put in.  “But if we could, at least, make it a somewhat short rest?  I’d like to see the surface again sooner rather than later.”

“Long enough to eat and for all of us to get naps,” she agreed, dragging her feet as they crossed the bridge.  There was no way she was down to rest back where they had been, with that thing, and she hoped that seeing their retreating backs would give Fenris and Anders the impetus to stop arguing for a moment and follow along.

* * *

“Any idea of how long we were down there?” Hawke asked, when they emerged into the twilight of the Vinmark wastes.  Their rest had been good, if briefer than any of them actually required, and it was good to have a hot meal in their stomachs again.  The way back up was met with only a small handful of skirmishes with darkspawn, most of which were handled without even the entire group getting engaged, and none of them needing any of the mages to take any extra lyrium.  However, it was still a near thing, getting back to the surface, without Hawke collapsing.  She had pushed herself the hardest of all of them, and Anders was fretting over her like a mother hen.

“Who knows, who cares,” Varric said, mumbling.  “Let’s just be thankful we all made it out of there without losing any permanent parts.”

“We can’t go traipsing back through the mountains in the dark, sweet thing,” Isabela said, and since the pirate had been so unusually quiet, Hawke knew that she probably had something going on that she wasn’t letting on; she was bad about that, or, well, rather good about it, actually.  Sort of like how a cat hid their wounds, Isabela would hide her own. 

“Do we need to set up camp?” she asked.  “I think we’ve cleared all the Carta out.  Haven’t seen a sign of them.  We can go back to those warehouse rooms we camped in before.”

“Maker, yes,” Isabela moaned, and Hawke found herself blushing _just slightly_ , because that sounded like a moan that was way too much on the _sexual_ end of gratitude.

Despite the fact that they had made some amazing discoveries of various kinds (gold, silver, antiquities, weapons and armor) Hawke thought her absolute _favorite_ discovery was the den of wild nugs they disturbed.  This must have been one of the things feeding the dwarves who weren’t horribly tainted, as the nugs weren’t all _that_ wild, and they were quite fattened up as well.  Varric managed to take several of them down with Bianca before the rest of them had much time to react, and, despite the lack of good spices such as salt and the like, they were able to cook up some passible nug roast with elfroot.  It smelled delicious, tasted just fine as well, and Hawke manage to sit back, after she was eating and had licked the grease from her fingers, and pat her full stomach, a lazy smile playing on her lips.

“What would the people of Kirkwall think, if they knew their Champion just ate roast nug with her fingers in the middle of the Vinmark mountains?”

“Probably that you spit fire and could kill a man at thirty paces just to watch him die,” Varric said, that same satisfied smile on his face that Hawke had on hers.

“Do you really have to tell people those things?” she teased.

“If I didn’t, they’d make it up about you anyway,” he promised.

“What, like the stories they make up about me and Fenris?”

“Just be glad they don’t say Fenris shoots fire out of his d—“

“That’s quite enough,” Fenris growled, but it was a satisfied, smirking kind of growl.  They were all quite satisfied with themselves, having finally gotten enough to eat, and enough of something different, something fresh, that Hawke knew it would be difficult to get any of them to take being on watch seriously.  She knew that she, herself, would be perfectly happy just flopping down on a bedroll and stretching out, preferably with Fenris somewhere in the nearby vicinity to touch on her, and going to sleep for about a day, giving her body some time to recuperate.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.  They had to draw watches, and stay up during said watches.  Plus, she decided, after catching a whiff of herself, that she didn’t want Fenris anywhere near her in such a capacity until she’d had a bath and sluiced most of the grime away.  She _reeked_ of body odor and darkspawn and blood and filth. 

And so did he, she realized, when she woke up as he was lying down next to her, as close as he could get and them still be two separate people.  But he must not have minded the fact that she smelled like last month’s robes, because she didn’t particularly mind that he stank, especially once he realized that she was awake and started kissing her softly, running bare fingers through the hair that she had let down out of its customary tail.  He was kissing her with abandon, which surprised Hawke because she knew that others were sleeping not very far away, and someone was supposed to be on watch, but Hawke happily kissed him back, twirling her tongue around his and nibbling his lips when the opportunity arose.  One of his hands strayed down and curled around her waist, drawing her close against him, and he pressed his face against the crook of her neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along the bare flesh there.

“We are out of that damnable place,” he mumbled to her, nuzzling his lips against her skin.  “We are on our way back home.  It seems there is a Maker, and He is smiling on us.  You are alive.  I am alive.  And we are going home to Bethy.”

“Yes,” she breathed, pressing her lips to his filthy hair.  “Going home to Bethy.”  She couldn’t help the smile that touched her lips then. 

“Marian, I… I am glad you are safe,” He finished, although it was obvious that wasn’t what he was going to say originally.

“I’m glad you are, too, Fenris.”

“When we manage to get to that inn in that last village,” he said, bringing his lips to her ear and kissing his way up the shell of it.  “We will send a letter ahead to Aveline, to let her know we are well, and then I will keep you in our room for two days, Marian.  You will not leave our bed.”  She shivered and smirked, in the darkness; his words were certainly not leaving her unaffected.

“And how do you plan to keep me there?  I’m a free woman, I can leave when I—“ His mouth was on hers again and his knee was nudging her legs apart.  When he finally let her come up for air, she gasped to catch her breath.

“There are better uses for that mouth of yours than glibness, Marian Hawke, and I plan to put it to those uses.”  Her brows shot up.  _This_ was not like Fenris.  Not _her_ Fenris. 

“Who are you, and where is Fenris?” she asked, and he grumbled and lay on his back, although still touching on her.

“I am glad we are out of that place, is all,” he said, and she laughed, low and husky.

“We’ll just have to see what happens at the inn,” she promised him. 

When the sun finally came up, Hawke was awake and on watch to catch it.  She wasn’t sure how long they had been down there, but seeing the sunrise was enough to make her a grateful woman.  She even started a breakfast gruel with some of the travel rations that they had had to leave behind in these same storage rooms before, using a knife and the top of a wooden crate to cut up some of the nug roast they had the previous night, to add a bit of protein and flavor to the stuff.  It wasn’t the best of breakfasts, but it was breakfast in fresh air, with the sky overhead, with a cup of hot elfroot tea for each of them, and there wasn’t one single complaint during the whole of breakfast, either for the fare or the company.  _If the rest of the day goes like this, we’ll have smooth sailing back into the woods,_ Hawke thought.  _And then a couple of days in the woods before we’re to that inn, where Fenris can keep me in bed for at least a day, and I don’t think I’ll even argue with him_.

Everything on their way out looked strangely familiar, as if it had been a truly long time since they had seen the things.  That they had only seen them in the first place, going in, and usually in the heat of battle did not help the queerness of the situation, but all of them were taken aback and wary at the pulsing obelisk that was in the middle of the place with the highest walls, where they had fought Carta dwarves and a bronto however many days back.

“Well, we’re rested and on our way back from a terrible experience.  What else could possibly go wrong?” Hawke asked, although the question wasn’t a serious one.  There was no way they were getting past that obelisk without it triggering and doing something, and so Hawke girded her loins and marched right up to the thing and touched it.

It exploded with light and some sort of… thing… was in the middle of where the obelisk had stood.  Up on the wooden battlement walls, ghostly skeletal archers appeared.

“Oh, shit,” Hawke said, voice flat. 

She and Merrill flanked Anders, each taking one of the sides of the battlements, while Varric stood beside the mage and let fly bolt after bolt.  Fenris and Isabela seemed to have disappeared up one side of the battlements, while Carver took the other.  The archers dealt a great deal of damage if their arrows hit, but managed to go down relatively quickly, and with little effort expended.  However, once they all fell, the demon-thing that touching the obelisk seemed to have summoned flexed and stretched, taking its full shape.  It looked vaguely human, but Hawke didn’t bother to stop and see if it wanted to chat.  Instead she directed bolt after bolt of energy at the thing, which seemed to not be too bothered by most of their attacks.

Indeed, it soon decided to change form, and shifted into that of a dragon, which caused a collective “Oh, shit” to go around the entire crew.

“A high dragon?  A fucking high dragon?” Hawke cried, in disbelief.

“I’m blaming you, sister!” Carver yelled out.

“I didn’t do it!” Hawke argued.

“Could you two shut up with the arguing for a minute and fight the bloody dragon?” Anders shouted, as the dragon turned, sweeping its tail towards where the three mages were trying to hold ground with Varric. 

But dragons –even ghostly dragons, as this one appeared—are eventually slain, and this one was no different, although they all had new burns, bruises, and cuts to show for it.  At least the mages were well-rested, finding it much easier to provide Healing without digging into lyrium after an entire night’s good rest and somewhat fresh food, even if it was nug. 

“I wasn’t expecting to have to fight a dragon, when I signed up for this mad adventure,” Hawke said, looking at the horribly charred state of her robes.  The end of her ponytail was also seared somewhat, and she looked at it with a lot more sadness than she had the robes. 

“Chuckles, I don’t think any of us ever expect to go out fighting dragons on any given day,” Varric told her.

A pause, and then Fenris, Anders, Merrill, Isabela, and Carver all said together, “The Bone Pit.”  Varric blinked, taken aback, and held his hands up in submission.  Hawke laughed outright.

“At least we didn’t get sent on this fool’s errand by Hubert,” she said, cheerfully.  “Maker, if my life goes right, I’ll never hear from him again, except when he drops off my share of the profits.”

“That means you’ll hear from him every day for the rest of your natural life, Hawke,” Fenris intoned, rolling his eyes.

“Maker, whatever possessed me to say that, then?” Hawke grumbled, pulling out one of her last dozen Healing potions.  Whatever they were going to face in the woods was going to be a cakewalk compared to what they faced here at the prison, whether she voiced it or not, and it would do well to be able to safe her mana as much as possible, as well as those last two precious lyrium potions.  Hawke shrugged her shoulders and readied herself for the trek forward.  If they pressed, they could be into the tree line in a few more hours and still have time to set up camp before it got too dark.  They were that much closer to Kirkwall.

* * *

 

The woods proved to be an easier challenge going than they were coming, possibly because they were more familiar with the area and possibly because they had already cleared out several of the bears that had been living there.  Thus, it took them only two and a half of a day to get through the woods, where it had taken them a solid three days before.  It helped they were going downhill, for one, and it helped that the hunting was so much easier, for another.  Possibly because of the dead bears, or possibly because of what they learned on their trek up the mountain, Hawke wasn’t exactly sure.

The small inn they found at the last (first) village was Maker-sent, as far as Hawke was concerned.  The innkeeper remembered them, from when they passed through the first time, and, although she usually served only the hunters who went up into the woods and needed a place to stop on their way there and home again, she was happy to take the newly-found coin of Hawke and her crew, especially when she paid extra so that everyone could have hot baths and meals, as well as shelling out a great deal of that coin to ensure everyone could drink as much as they felt like without having to keep a tab.  Hawke also asked, discreetly, if there was anyone around who might have some extra clothes they would be willing to sell her.  She would happily go about dressed in whatever she could, especially if it passed for something other than mage robes.  The innkeeper took one look at the ragged, disheveled robes and directed Hawke to someone in town who was happy to sell her a threadbare set of robes as well as a pair of trousers and a tunic for a ridiculous sum of money.  But they were clean, and well-kept, and the robe had a few weak enchantments on it, so Hawke was happy to part with the coin, in the end.

She felt quite altruistic, having given up her place at one of the first baths in order to go retrieve the robes (and Merrill had gone with her, as well as Fenris, as backup, in case it was a trap; one could never be completely trusting of strangers, if one was a mage) and when the time came for her to be able to fill up the large copper tub with steaming hot water and just relax and let the tension melt from her body, she jumped at it.  There were bath oils!  There was scented soap!  There was…. A Fenris, suddenly, in her bathwater.  Hawke opened one eye at him, affecting a neutral look on her face.

“Serah, I believe you have your own bath,” she said, putting on an Orlesian accent.

“Hawke,” Fenris warned, stretching out his legs on either side of her. 

“Fenris,” Hawke mimicked.  “I am filthy, and wanted a bath of my own.  Shoo.”

“No,” he said, leaning back, with his elbows hanging over either side of the tub and his head tilted back.

“Maker’s breath, I’ll go back to our room soon, just _let me bathe in peace, you wretched elf_.”

“No,” he said again, lazily, eyes closed.  Hawke sighed and stood up, water pouring off her body, which made him take notice.

“I’m serious, Fenris.  I wanted my own bath.  I’m filthy, you’re filthy.  We can bathe together tomorrow, or later, just… let me have my own bath.”

“You are a mage,” he said, grabbing her arm and tugging her back down into the water.  Hawke drew her knees up to her chest, to try to cover up some of her nakedness and not give him the pleasure.  “You can….” He made a vague gesture.  “… _Magic_ the water back in the tub.  At the appropriate temperature.”

“I don’t want to have to, is the point.  I’ve used enough of my magic over the last however many days as it is.”

Fenris made an irritated sound.  “Marian, just… give me this.  Please.”  She huffed an irritated sigh and dunked her head under the water.  They could just both be irritated at each other, then. When she emerged, Fenris was watching her, expression unreadable.  Hawke sighed and leaned back, pushing the dripping hair out of her face and making a show out of reaching for the hair soaps that rested on the stool beside the tub.

Fenris growled and reached for her hand, pulling her down against him and causing water to splash over the sides of the tub. He curled one hand around her head and pulled her face against his, kissing her quite soundly and in what was, in Hawke’s opinion, quite an enjoyable manner.  Any sort of fight or irritation she had seemed to melt out of her; perhaps the hot water had leeched it out, like it had taken some of her stresses, or perhaps it was just the realization that they were out of that blighted Warden prison and they were all alive, but Hawke suddenly found herself clinging to Fenris, bringing her knees to either side of his hips, sloshing water around them.

He made an appreciative sound, sliding the hand that cradled her head down until it found her left breast, where his fingers traced over the scar there from Insane Dwarf 523’s axe.  He broke the kiss long enough to bring his lips there, to brush against the scar tissue, and then he was taking a damp nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it lightly.  Hawke closed her eyes and kneaded her fingers against the strong muscles in his shoulders, sighing slightly with the pleasure of the feeling.  Fenris shifted slightly and she could feel his arousal pressing up against the inside of her thigh; Hawke shifted a little, to cause friction, and it was his turn to sigh before he took her nipple back into his mouth, biting down just enough to leave temporary teeth marks. 

He moved his mouth between her breasts and placed a kiss there, then moved to the other one, bringing his hand to the recently-abandoned nipple to tweak it while he took the lonely one into his mouth, suckling on it gently.  Hawke placed a kiss on the tip of his ear, nipping it just slightly, which caused Fenris to shift position and drop a hand down to her rear, to pull her against him.  She glanced over to where the door seemed to be securely locked (although nothing was securely locked when Isabela was around, and she knew that the pirate would be in there in a heartbeat if she sensed any caboodling was afoot) and decided that it was safe enough for them to continue.

“Don’t be loud,” she murmured into his ear.  “Or Isabela will hear us.”  He simply nodded and tried to fit her entire breast into his mouth, a valiant effort, considering that her milk drying up had not decreased the size very much, in general, and Hawke slipped her hand beneath the water to grasp the length of his cock, twisting her hand up and over his hardness.  He released her breast then and rested his forehead against her chest, moaning softly and digging jagged nails into the flesh of her thigh before pulling her against him again.  He shifted so that he was pressed against her slit, and Hawke teasingly ran her tongue over the length of his ear and twisted her hand up and down over his length again. 

“Stop teasing me,” he muttered, biting the side of her breast before moving up to her collarbone. 

“But it’s fun,” she whispered.  “Watching you get all hot and bothered.”

“Marian,” he complained, before his lips found her throat and he bit there hard enough to leave a mark, suckling the skin afterwards.

“You’re the one who couldn’t wait,” she said, and he broke away from her skin long enough to look her in the eyes, brows arched.

“Perhaps that should have given you your first clue, Marian.”  He moved his lips back to her throat, then up her jawline and to her mouth, shifting his hips and thrusting up into her hand.  Hawke grinned playfully and thumbed over the foreskin on the head of his cock, turning her hand.

“I could always stop doing this,” she purred, tilting her head to give him better access.

“You will not,” he replied, showing more confidence than he normally did during their lovemaking.  His hand creeped down from her outer thigh towards her inner thigh, brushing along the damp curls at the apex and slipping down so that he could rub his thumb against her clit.  Hawke sighed again and reflexively ground her hips down against his hand, and she could feel him smirk against her neck.  “You will not,” he repeated, slipping the first two digits of his hands down to her entrance and slowly sliding them inside of her.

“Fine, she muttered, gasping and bucking her hips down against him.  He thrust inside her several times, running his thumb over her nub, and Hawke shivered at the feel of it.  It was distracting enough that she merely held on to his shaft without running her hand over it, using her other hand to brace against his chest. “Now who’s teasing?”

He simply bit down on her shoulder again, lathing over the bite with his tongue almost as if in apology, and slid his fingers back up inside of her, thumb circling her clit.  Hawke squirmed and rested her head against his shoulder, trying to remind herself to work her hand over him, but lost in how good him playing her felt.

When he removed his hand, she made a little noise of protestation, and raised up more on her knees, as well as she could, to guide him towards her entrance.  Fenris placed a hand on either hip and pulled her down against him roughly as soon as she had him inside of her, and Hawke bit down on his shoulder at the feel of it.  Fenris brought his legs up, keeping her more or less trapped in place, and Hawke found she didn’t mind that at all.  Instead, she raised herself up on her knees and slid back down, and it was her turn to watch Fenris’s head fall back, his eyes closed and his lips parted slightly.  His fingers tightened their grip on her hips and one slid up to cup a breast, kneading her flesh roughly. 

When he opened his eyes, he gazed into hers and drew her mouth down against his for a languorous kiss. Hawke held his lips even while rising up nearly all the way off him, sliding back down slowly.  They were in no hurry, here, and if the others missed them, well, then they would just be missed.  Fenris made a pleased sound and brought his hand back down between them, seeking her clit with his thumb and rubbing circles around it once he found home.  Hawke sighed happily against his lips, tracing her tongue over his before nipping the bottom one lightly, and nestled her face against his neck, bringing herself up his body and down it again slowly.

“Marian,” he whispered against her ear, perhaps merely to say her name, or perhaps some sort of benediction.  She had to admit that it felt… particularly good, if she were honest.  Bath times were usually sacred for her and meant for her alone, most of the time, or for her and Bethy to just get clean.  As irritated as she had been at first, having Fenris join her was an enjoyable side benefit of the entire thing, and as he rubbed and added a little bit of pressure against her, Hawke breathed in sharply and bit his earlobe.  He was going to make her come too soon, if he kept that up.  Her breathing was already getting labored.

Apparently his was, too, and she could feel his heart speeding up, where his chest was pressed against hers.  Fenris arched his hips up and into hers, dragging her hips down against his, and his breathing was a bit harder than it had been.  Abruptly, it felt _wonderful_.  As if he were hitting just the perfect spot inside of her while at the same time keeping up those lovely pressured circles on her nub.  Hawke whimpered just slightly and tried to raise up off him, splashing more water against them, but Fenris pulled her back down with a nearly harsh tug, grinding his hips back up.  He moved around slightly so that he was laying out more, his legs stretched out before him and giving Hawke better purchase to ride him as she pleased. 

Hawke placed both of her hands on his chest, arching herself up on him, and when she came back down she _came_ , surprised and abruptly, crying out sharply and digging her nails into the lyrium marks on his chest.  Fenris must not have been as surprised, but he came shortly after she did, moving his hand back to her other hip and dragging her down against him while he thrust up inside of her, the marks flashing blue-white suddenly with his release, tilting his head back with a gasped moan, his eyes fluttering closed.

Hawke lay there on him, for a moment, resting her head against his chest, breathing hard.  His hands slipped around her until Fenris was holding her against him in a tight embrace, nuzzling against her ear, when it hit Hawke that he had come inside of her _again_.  She sat up and came off him, pushing him back with a slap of water.

“Maker be damned, Fenris, you are _going to get another child on me_ ,” she snarled, standing again.  The water poured off of her, into the tub, and he did not stop her when she tried to get out this time.

“Would that be the worst thing, Marian?” he asked, lazily, and she stared at him, mouth agape.

“Fenris…. I need to make up a middle name for you, but Fenris _J. Hawke, absolutely not_.  No.  She’s not even a _year old_.  I haven’t _recovered_.  Maker… _Maker_!” she shouted, loud enough that she was sure to be heard outside the room, and grabbed up a towel to start toweling herself off.

“Fenris _J. Hawke?_ ” he asked, bemused. 

“Well, unless _you_ want to make up a middle and last name, you’ll just have to go with what I’m giving you.”  He smirked at that and she flicked the tip of his ear.

“You ruined my bath,” she told him, unhappily.

“You seemed like you enjoyed yourself,” he responded, leaned back and with his palms resting on either side of the tub again.

Hawke shook her head, then used a quick ice spell to cool down the water.  Fenris opened his eyes and arched a brow at her, then carefully stood up and stepped out of the tub.  “You could have just told me if you wanted to see me naked, Marian,” he said, affecting a smirking grin.

“You….”

“I _what_ , Marian?”  She shook her head and used careful flows of Force magic to drain the tub, then more ice and a touch of fire to melt and heat the water back up.

“I am going to take a real bath now, _serah_ , if you do not mind.”

“Does that mean I’m not invited?”

“It means you can wait your turn,” she said, smartly, and Fenris merely smiled in return and settled himself on the other low stool that was against the far wall.  Hawke watched him carefully, to make sure he didn’t interrupt her actual washing this time, and by the time she was out of the tub, she felt quite like a new woman and slightly less cross at him, although the concerns that he was going to get another child on her were increasing.  It was almost like he was doing that on purpose.  She would have to talk to Isabela about teas and such; surely the pirate, with as many lovers as she had had, knew about those things.  Or Anders; Anders would _certainly_ know. 

Dinner that night was stew, but it was basically fresh, and came with bread and vegetables that they hadn’t actually had much of in more than a week, along with whatever kinds of alcohol they cared to drink.  The wine wasn’t the best, but it was drinkable, and the ale wasn’t any worse than what they usually drank at The Hanged Man.  Everyone seemed to be in much better spirits, and with their bodies cleaned (as well as clothes; Hawke wasn’t the only one who was willing to lend her mana to helping the others get clean belongings) and full stomachs and heads swimming in alcohol, they were all more than happy to retire to their rooms relatively early to get in whatever sleep they could.

Fenris made good on his promise to keep her in the bed as long as possible, although that had a lot more to do with the fact that they were both exhausted and he wound up nearly weighing her down with how heavily he was sleeping than any real carnal pursuits.  It had been a while since he slept that deeply, and she wondered if he had truly slept at all during their unfortunate misadventures, or had simply cat-napped, as it were.  He hadn’t needed to truly do so in a long time, but during the three years he was on the run from his former master, before he came to Kirkwall and met Hawke, she knew it was a skill he had taught himself.

It was well into the afternoon before everyone reassembled downstairs, and they were all mainly in want of more food and more drink.  Hawke and Anders took the opportunity of their recovered mana to Heal everyone, even if they claimed they didn’t need it, and by the time dinner came around, Hawke was feeling almost human again, and more than ready to be on their way back to Kirkwall.  She hoped most fiercely that the messenger they had sent off the day before was well on his way to Aveline, and that she would get the message and not worry so much about them; they had been out of pocket for so long, and Aveline could be a worrier, when she had reason. 

Hawke warned them all that they would be leaving early in the morning, and to not overindulge on the alcohol tonight.  It seemed like the rest of them were as eager to get back to Kirkwall as she and Fenris were, for the ale didn’t flow as plentifully as it had the night before, and everyone turned in at a somewhat reasonable hour.

After an early breakfast, they all set out, this time with a mule and cart to carry most of their things.  The mule was a dull animal, but Hawke enjoyed talking to it well enough.  She named it Cullen, which brought a chuckle to both Anders and Merrill, and Carver smirked; although he wouldn’t admit it, Hawke still saw it.  They had to maintain a slow sort of pace so that Cullen the mule could keep up, but they made it back to Kirkwall in as good a time as could be expected, and Hawke went ahead and sent messengers ahead twice more, so that Aveline would be apprised that they were making fair time, and were still alive.  Hawke handed the mule and cart over to Varric, to do with as he saw fit, once they entered the gates, and told him, hurriedly, that he could just drop her things off back at her estate.  She and Fenris were obviously in a hurry to get to Aveline, and they both headed straight for the barracks at the Viscount’s Keep, neither of them speaking and both with obvious concern on their face.

When Hawke laid eyes on Bethy, sitting up on Aveline’s office floor and playing with that ragged teddy bear, she let out a sob she didn’t realize she was holding in and grabbed up her daughter off the floor.  Aveline was saying something to her, but she couldn’t tell what, through the haze of tears that threatened.  Fenris was speaking in a low voice, and Aveline went to the door and said something to one of the guards out there.  Hawke just held up Bethy, who seemed concerned and surprised, and happy all at the same time, and wondering if it was time for tears, since Hawke’s were now flowing freely.  She kept hugging her face to her daughter, who looked so different, so much older, and yet so much the same, in the close to a month since they had been separated.

Before she realized what was happening, Fenris was leading her to one of the chairs in the corner, and another one of the guards was coming in carrying things for tea and setting them down on a mostly cleared desk.  Aveline thanked him and ushered him out, and then closed the door behind her with a very loud sound.  Fenris and Aveline busied themselves making tea, which Hawke mostly ignored, as she bounced Bethy on her lap and made cooing sounds at her daughter.  She was so _happy_!  She was home, and Bethy was safe, and…

“Now, Hawke,” Aveline said, in her no-nonsense voice, as Fenris abruptly took Bethy from her and Aveline shoved a hot cup of tea into her hands.  “Tell me _everything_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I absolutely just wanted to be done with this section, which is why the fights against Janeka, Corypheus, and Malvernus aren't that great. I was ready for a little bit of smut and a little bit of fluff. I know everyone's hearts are just broken by that, so I'll give you a week to cope before there's more fluff. ;-)


	24. So Close And So Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris enjoy time at home, and get an alarming reminder of what life is like with a baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lil bit of smut. Viewer discretion advised.

Aveline demanded, and Hawke acquiesced: she told the Guard-Captain _most_ everything, leaving out only a few details that she was certain Aveline wouldn’t appreciate (including the discussion she had with Merrill and Isabela regarding special teas that she could drink every morning to help cut down on chances of future pregnancies, given how Fenris seemed quite determined in that regard) and trying to make the seemingly unending fighting they did both more exciting and briefer. 

Fenris was relatively quiet, leaving all the talking to Hawke herself.  Hawke resented this, on a certain level, because it meant she got to hold endless cups of tea while Fenris got to hold Bethy.  She caught him, from the corner of her eye, counting each of the little fingers and each of the little toes, and every now and then making some sort of cooing sound at his child.  Truly, this was the reason Aveline had closed the door; Fenris was known throughout all of Hightown and sundry as Hawke’s bodyguard and (probable) lover, but Bethy was known only as Hawke’s adopted daughter, and having Fenris show _this_ kind of attention screamed “I am her daddy and I will fight you!” to the masses who might catch a glimpse.  Aveline was good, but even she couldn’t browbeat guardsmen into not gossiping about the Champion and her child and her (probable) love interest.

So there he was, getting to cuddle on their daughter, kiss on her, and smiling as widely and sincerely as she had ever seen him, while Hawke had to go over fights, and describe this Corypheus character, and the Warden prison.  Aveline treated Hawke as if she were one of her guardsmen, wringing out every last detail, even the ones Hawke thought were not as important or even as interesting.  Just when Hawke was starting to feel the most resentful, and really thinking about saying something along the lines of “give me back my child and let me stop talking,” Fenris interrupted.

“How was Bethy?”

“Good.  Fine.  An exemplary baby,” Aveline told him, eyeing them both as if they were purposefully leaving out details.  _Well, unless you want to hear about hot wall sex and ‘thank the Maker we’re out of that place’ bathtub sex, you’re not missing much, Aveline_ , Hawke thought to herself, standing quickly to rid herself of the wretched tea and then insisting that Fenris hand Bethy over.

“She didn’t give you much trouble?”

“She cried.  Really, you make having a baby seem more difficult than it actually is.”  But the flush on her cheeks gave her away, and Hawke couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at the corners of her mouth.  Bethy was an exemplary baby, yes, but even the best of babies act up, and getting used to such a schedule change was bound to have been difficult for Aveline.

“I think it’s time we got back to the estate, Aveline,” Fenris said to her.  “Do you have a bag of her things around?  It should be close to time for a feeding.”

“Maker, she hates that bubby pot,” Aveline said, shaking her head and reaching for a plain brown, leather satchel behind her desk.  Fenris took it with a nod of thanks.

“We’ll catch up with you more later, Aveline.  But we’re safe now, or we should be, so no worries.”

“You tell me ‘no worries’ like it’s something I’m capable of,” Aveline retorted, with a snort.  “But off you go.  I’ll drop by after dinner, with Donnic.  He’ll be glad to see the both of you, too.”

It was strange, after the weeks apart, carrying Bethy through Hightown and back to her estate.  Usually Hawke carried her in the sling that she had fashioned, or else pushed her in the little carriage, but neither of those were available and so she carried Bethy more on her hip; the child was six months old now, and more than easily held herself up, clutching at the fabric of her mother’s tunic and watching her with wide, blue eyes.  Sometimes she would make babbling sounds, and Hawke tried to speak back, but didn’t know what to say.  It was almost as if she were a stranger to her own child, and that made her feel a strange ache, deep in her chest.  She wondered if Fenris shared the sentiment, but the middle of the Viscount’s Keep in Hightown was not the place to bring up such things.

Their belongings were awaiting them in the foyer of her estate when they finally returned, along with Bodahn and Orana, who were all beaming smiles and joyous words of welcome.  Hawke couldn’t help but become teary-eyed from Orana’s blithe smiles, and Bodahn’s boisterous welcome.  After a few moments, Sandal appeared, with Hero at his heels, and the mabari took one sniff of Hawke and seemed to go mad with joy, dancing around her and Fenris both, wagging his nub of a tail as hard as he could.  Sandal clapped his hands and hopped up and down in place, and earned himself a hug and a kiss on the cheek, which caused him to grin all the wider.

They had been gone nearly a month, all told, and it was good, to Hawke’s mind, that Bodahn was so efficient at running her estate, needing to be directed very little in what had to be done, because otherwise things could have quite quickly gone to pot, as it were.  However, nothing had been burned down, and Orana had received her pay on time, even if she still refused to leave the estate to actually spend the money, and Hawke’s correspondence had been built up so high that the entire writing desk was covered in missives.

“Some of them are probably just from people who were curious as to where the Champion got off to,” Bodahn assured her.  “There were quite a number of them who stopped by and tried to get something out of me and Orana there, but we kept our mouths closed, we did.”

“We were hardly secretive about where we were going, Bodahn,” Hawke said, gently, as she tried to pry Bethy’s fingers from her dark locks.

“It doesn’t matter, Messere,” Bodahn said, more firmly.  “It’s none of their business unless you say it is, and you never told me that it was fine to let all and sundry know your affairs, so I’m not going to do it.”

“You did well, Bodahn,” Fenris said, passing by to carry the leather satchel with Bethy’s things up to her room.  Bodahn simply beamed, obviously proud that he was getting praised by Fenris, who had always been lax with such things.  It amused Hawke, how Bodahn took Fenris to be the man of the house even without any formal arrangements.  In the eyes of the help, it seemed, their relationship was a done deal, even if the papers weren’t signed.

“We were getting worried, Mistress,” Orana said, in her soft, quiet way.  She smiled shyly and looked down.  “You were gone so long.  I know you are a strong fighter, but… You were gone so long.  I am glad you are back!”

“It takes a lot more than Carta, darkspawn, giant spiders, and… whatever Corypheus was, to keep me down, Orana,” Hawke said, patting her on the shoulder.  “Did Aveline come by with Bethy often?”

“Every day,” Orana replied, nodding.  “Serah Aveline… She isn’t very good with babies,” came the shy confession.  Bodahn laughed.

“Indeed, Serah Aveline was here quite often those first few days.  Thought familiar surroundings would help keep the little Hawke happier.  It wasn’t to be, unfortunately, but…”

“Bethy wasn’t too much trouble, was she?”

“I think the Captain finally got the hang of it,” Bodahn said, eyes twinkling.  “Serah Donnic stopped by with her frequently, and he seemed to have an easier time.”  Hawke chuckled, picturing it in her head, delighted.  Bethy took that time to start fussing, bringing her hand to her mouth repeatedly and suckling on it until drool was dripping down her arm.  Hawke smiled indulgently and kissed her soft forehead.

“I think someone is getting hungry,” she said, sing-song.

“I’ll put on some milk to warm,” Orana told her, bustling away and radiating happiness.  Hawke took the opportunity to carry Bethy into the library and sit with her in one of the overstuffed chairs, holding her daughter up on her lap and helping her to stand somewhat, hands under her arms.

“Bethy is a big girl!  She is!”  Bethy gurgled something and made a high-pitched squealing sound that was one of the most pleased things Hawke had ever heard.  Of course she laughed along with her daughter, which made Bethy lose what little balance she had and sit down with a heavy plop on her mother’s lap, blinking darkly-lashed eyes in confusion.  “I’ve missed you, sweetpea,” Hawke cooed, peppering her face with kisses again.

“I would have thought you wanted a bath before you got hold of her,” Fenris said, coming into the room and carrying two glasses and a bottle of wine.  Hawke shot him a grateful smile.

“You thought wrong, serah,” she told him, in no uncertain terms, and he chuckled.

“So I see.  You realize that _I_ am going to want some time with her, too?”

“You can wait your turn,” Hawke said, picking Bethy back up and nuzzling her lips against the dark hair that curled on the crown of her head.  “She still smells like baby.  She smells familiar.  Like home.”

“You both do,” Fenris said, which gave Hawke a start.  For some reason, she never got used to him saying things like that, although he’d been saying them easily since coming back from the Deep Roads all those years ago.  Some of them weren’t even necessarily romantic in nature, and Hawke wasn’t even sure if Fenris was aware of what he was saying when he said things like that, but it spoke to her of someone who was settling in and making a home of his own, and creating his own family, just as she was having to do again, now that Bethany, Mother, and Father were all gone, and Carver voluntarily locked away in the Gallows most of the time.

“Why, Fenris J. Hawke, I’m going to start thinking you fancy me, if you keep saying things like that.”  He shot her a wry look and Hawke matched it with a grin, which then caused him to chuckle softly and shake his head as he settled the glasses and bottle of wine down on a table.

“Why the ‘J?’” he asked, uncorking the wine bottle.

“Because it’s the first thing that popped into my head?”  Hawke settled Bethy down into the crook of her arm, but the child had other ideas and started squirming and kicking her feet.  “Fine, fine, if you don’t want me to snuggle you, I’ll just hold you.”  She sat up a little straighter and allowed Bethy to sit up on her lap, facing Fenris.  “I’m more surprised you don’t object to ‘Hawke.’”

“It is your family name,” Fenris said, pouring them each a glass.  “Were we to marry, I have no family name for you to take, if you wished, so I would take yours, if it were permitted.”  Her jaw dropped.  It positively dropped.  She caught herself and closed her mouth with an audible “click” of her teeth.

“And you’ve decided to marry me, then?”

“It’s not something I object to on principle,” he replied, nonchalantly.  Glasses poured, he handed one to Hawke and took the other for himself, settling down in the other armchair.  Bethy made a few weak grabs for the glass, but Hawke managed to keep it away from her easily.

“No, no,” she murmured.  “This is for mommies and daddies to drink.”  Bethy made an irritated sound and Hawke grinned.  It was so _good_ to be home, with her daughter and with Fenris.  The Vinmarks had been a nasty place, regardless, and then the constant fighting and exhaustion had been terrible as well, but this… was home.

* * *

“My tub,” Hawke said, lazily wiggling her toes in the bubbly water, “is the best of the tubs in the entire world.”

“You’re biased,” Fenris accused, shifting Bethy from one arm to the other.  Hawke opened one eye and glared at him with it, rather ineffectually. 

“I might just stay in here all night,” she crooned, waving her hand back and forth and watching the bubbles drip from it.

“You will not,” he replied, assuredly.  Hawke smirked and leaned her head back against the rim of the tub, sighing, before she channeled just a little more fire into the water.  No sense in sitting in a chilled tub. Bethy made a raspberry sound and, from the distressed noise Fenris made, was grabbing at either his hair or his ears.  Hawke couldn’t be bothered to open her eyes and check.  She was _relaxed_.

Dinner had been filling and, best of all, eaten at her own table, with her own family around her.  Bethy had been relatively well-behaved, although when it came time to feed her with the bubby pot, she seemed confused and tried to get at Hawke’s breasts, which caused Hawke to cry, of course, emotional weakling that she was when it came to her daughter, and Fenris had to take over that particular venture.  Bethy seemed all the more confused as to the status of who was feeding her; mommy had always been the source of food, before, and having her daddy doing it was problematic.  It took no small amount of settling the child down, by Fenris, before she finally agreed to use the ridiculous thing.  Hawke had been away long enough that she knew her milk wouldn’t be returning and, indeed, whereas before a cry from Bethy might set her breasts leaking, all her hungry cries did now was to cause Hawke to feel ineffectual and useless in terms of taking care of her daughter.

It was worth it, though.  She knew that much.  It meant that no one would be coming after her or Carver again, or at least, not for that reason, and that kept Bethy safe as well. 

After dinner had come time with the three of them just enjoying each other’s company.  Well, Hawke knew she enjoyed having Fenris and Bethy both there, and they sat on the floor on one of the spread-out blankets with a few little toys and Bethy, just… being there, with her.  Watching her play, and watching each other watch her.  It was supremely relaxing, in a way, and somewhat tense as well.  Hawke couldn’t make the worry and tension she’d felt the last weeks ease up as quickly as she wanted to, even with more wine, even with Fenris seemingly calm and relaxed as he was. 

Aveline and Donnic had, as promised, stopped by, although they didn’t even stay long enough to have drinks.  Hawke suspected that Aveline just wanted to check and see that things were being settled into properly.  Indeed, they were; Hawke and Fenris were as glad to be reunited with their daughter as Bethy seemed to be at being reunited with her parents.  Aveline stressed again that Bethy had been no trouble, but she didn’t hesitate to hotfoot it out of the estate after staying long enough to be polite.  Donnic had taken Fenris aside, probably to discuss resuming their weekly card games, and he seemed rather less troubled by the entire affair.  Hawke wondered if it was because he was sleeping elsewhere from Aveline during that month.  He had Aveline were a recent thing, of course, that Hawke had had a hand in arranging, but they hadn’t quite gotten to the “intimate” stages of a relationship.

And, of course, after that relaxing family time and relatively short Aveline and Donnic visit came the baths.  Hawke was tempted to bathe with Bethy, as she had been wont to do before, but the promise of getting to relax with her own bath products in her own tub was too much of a draw, and thus Hawke found herself sinking into a den of hot, bubbly water that smelled faintly of the color blue, sighing happily.  Bethy had already been bathed and dressed in a nightgown and fresh nappie, but apparently Fenris wasn’t ready for the family time to be over with just yet, because he had insisted on accompanying her into the bathing chamber with Bethy, watching Hawke just… bathe.

When Bethy started fussing, rubbing at her eyes as if she were sleepy, Fenris excused the two of them and took her off to lay down for bed.  She would still need to get up during the night to take her milk, but Aveline said she had only been waking up the once at night, hungry.  Such a change, from the near month ago that she had left.  Of course, Bethy would have gotten there sooner or later, even if Hawke had stayed behind, but she couldn’t beat herself up over that now.  They were home, and they were safe, and that Corypheus couldn’t get to them anymore.

By the time Hawke was ready to call it quits on her bath, Fenris was back with her in the washroom once again.  “She is sleeping soundly,” he confirmed, resting against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.  Somewhere, he had found the time to divest himself of his tunic, and, while he looked positively mouthwatering, half-naked as he was, Hawke realized that Fenris definitely had something more on his mind than just getting comfortable.

“I still think we should have let her sleep in the bed with us,” she grumbled, reaching for the toweling that sat on the bench beside the tub.

“Aveline said she was doing fine, sleeping in her own bed while we were gone,” Fenris chided, lightly.  “We do not wish to cause any more distress than we already have.”  Hawke firmed her jaw and refused to look at him.  It was hardly causing her _distress_ to be sleeping between her parents, now was it? “Besides, I was under the impression you would have been happy with just the two of us tonight.”

“Maybe a few nights ago,” she said, wearily.  “I think I might be too tired.”  Fenris simply arched a brow at her and maintained his position, watching her dry herself off. 

“I believe I had made a promise to you,” was the only reply she got.

“I don’t recall any promises,” Hawke said, rubbing the towel through her hair.

“It is good, then, that my memory is so much better than yours.”  She gave him a wry look at that, and he met it with a bland expression.

“Maker, but you’re impossible sometimes,” she commented, draping the towel around her hair as she swept past him into her bedchamber.  Hawke rummaged around in the drawer of her bureau, finally pulling out clean smalls that she hadn’t worn for a month, as well as a slinky sleeping shift that she had also not worn for a month.  It had seemed like all she had left to wear in the world were those few bits of clothing she had brought back with her from their trip, and the idea of wearing something fresh and clean and distinctly different was rather thrilling.

Fenris simply followed her in there and seemed to enjoy watching her dress.  Hawke was used to that; in their few private moments together, before the Vinmarks, he had always seemed to take a special thrill in watching her dress and undress, moreso than undressing her himself.  She had asked him about it a few times and he had simply smirked a little bit and shrugged, as if even he couldn’t explain it.

After dressing, she took her wide-toothed comb and sat on the bed, folding her legs up underneath her and preparing for the increasingly arduous task of combing out her hair, when Fenris took the comb from Hawke and sat behind her, separating her hair into parts and slowly drawing the comb through it himself.  Sometimes, when he did things like that for her, she didn’t know what to do.  It was obviously _meant_ to be an intimate gesture, but she didn’t want him to feel like he was obligated to perform such tasks and she didn’t know how to bring it up without starting an absolutely needless argument.

So she hummed, instead, and leaned back so that she made it easier on him to comb her hair, and he made an appreciative sound and worked comb and fingers through her long, ebony locks.  The fire in the hearth was already dying, not having been built up very high due to the summer months, and so Hawke held up her hand and summoned a mage light, washing both herself and Fenris out, but giving her a reason to snuff the flickering flames, to help cool it off a little bit in the room.  Truthfully, if Fenris had wanted to sleep at his mansion tonight, rather than in there with her as he was obviously wishing to, she wouldn’t have argued too strenuously against it simply because the man _clung_ during sleep and it was already too hot in there.  However, she was, privately, amazed that he even let Bethy sleep in her own room, instead of between the two of them, desire for Hawke foremost in his mind or not.  More than once on their trip back, she had caught Fenris arguing with Carver, and Fenris’s nightly resting spots were frequently the topics of such arguments.  They were so strange: Carver argued that Fenris should be sleeping at Hawke’s estate, and Fenris argued that he _would be_ sleeping at Hawke’s estate, no matter what Carver wished, and that… seemed to be pretty much the whole of most of their arguments. 

The other half of the arguments had been, of course, marriage. 

Hawke wondered if she hadn’t ought to get onto Carver for his own love life, rather than him continuously interfering in hers.  She caught the looks he gave Merrill.  She caught them kissing a handful of times, on the way back, although she suspected Carver was too bashful to take it past kissing, despite his experiences at the Blooming Rose.  Merrill had certainly seemed giggly over being caught, but Hawke felt Merrill was perfectly able to take care of herself, while Carver was so immature that, if Mother were still alive, he wouldn’t be allowed off her apron strings for fear he’d trip over his own shoelaces.  If he wanted a Hawke to be married so badly, why didn’t he just work up the nerve and ask some girl—

“You are far away, this evening,” came Fenris’s rumbling voice, soft and gentle, near her ear.  She blinked several times and came out of her reverie.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.  His hands stilled on their combing, and then she felt him brush her hair aside, sweeping it over her shoulder, and his fingers press down gently on the muscles of her shoulders, through the thin material of the sleeping shift. “Oh, you can stop that never,” she purred, and he radiated smugness and satisfaction, as he always did when getting such a reaction from her.

“What are you thinking about?”

“I thought men never wanted to know the answer to such questions,” Hawke quipped.  “Because they’re afraid the woman will actually tell them what’s on her mind.”

“I enjoy listening to you speak,” Fenris replied, and brushed his lips on the bare back of her neck.  Hawke shivered, chill bumps suddenly covering her from neck to knees.

“I think you’re just wanting sex,” she accused him.

“Not just,” he defended himself, sliding his hands down her arms over the chill bumps, then back up and down her torso, over the sides of her waist to her hips.  “But if you were thinking of something in particular, perhaps you could tell me, and we could talk about it.”  His lips ghosted up her neck to her ear and she felt them slip over the shell.

“You are a horrible tempter, do you know that?  Do you take lessons from desire demons or something?”  He huffed a short, breathy laugh and pressed a kiss to where her neck and her shoulder meet, at that one special spot she liked so well.  “Fen RISS,” she whined, tilting her head to the side to give him better access.  Ah well, he was going to get his way, since he so obviously wanted it and she didn’t quite feel as tired as she had been, in the tub.

“Marian,” he breathed into her ear, gliding his hands over her stomach and up until his palms cupped her breasts.  She felt her nipples hardening at the contact and sighed in relaxed contentment.  She still felt he was better at this than she was, being more experienced regardless of how he had come across said experience, but he seemed to enjoy her company well enough and she _had_ found some of that tea in that last little town before they reached the outskirts of Kirkwall…

Hawke turned her head, catching his lips with her own and darting her tongue out and over them quickly.  Fenris raised one hand up to her cheek and deepened the kiss, parting his lips and pressing against her enough that she felt herself drawn to lie back on the bed.  He encouraged her when she did lay back, resting most of his body weight on one elbow while the other hand gently cupped her breast, his thumb rubbing and swirling over the pebbled nipple before he pinched it lightly, tugging just a little bit.  It was easier for him to be rougher with her nipples, now that she wasn’t pregnant or nursing, and Fenris was a man who was rough on a nipple.

“You seem as if you have changed your mind, regarding adult-only activities, Marian,” Fenris said, after breaking their kiss.  She brushed her lips against his again quickly and he latched onto her neck again, nipping and lathing the bites down onto her shoulder, and then further onto her chest, pulling the sleeping shift’s hem down as he went.

“I think I was persuaded,” she finally managed to say.  Hawke’s fingers ran through his silky hair, brushing over the shell and tips of his ears.  Fenris made a happy sound and nudged her legs apart with one knee.

“I _can_ be persuasive,” he quipped, pulling the hem down far enough that his mouth was able to get to her nipple.  He bit it, first, and then kissed it softly as if in apology for the rougher bite.  His lips closed over her entire areola, his tongue swirling around, before he made a valiant attempt to fit her entire breast in his mouth.  At her sharp intake of breath, he eased up, moving his lips back to where they were the only part touching her breast, brushing their softness over the peaked firmness of the nipple.  His knee pushed up against her core, pressing at her through her smalls, and she knew she was already getting wet for him.  It rarely took long, and Hawke never really thought to question why; she enjoyed sex with Fenris, enjoyed the closeness, and, although she knew she wasn’t very good at it, he enjoyed being close with her as well. 

Hawke dropped her hands down his body, to fumble at the belt on his waist.  Fenris shifted, to give her better access to it, and before too long she had it unbuckled, her fingers pulling at the laces on his pants, her palm brushing over the hard bulge that was forming under her ministrations. She paused then, and pressed her hand against it a little more firmly, and Fenris bucked his hips towards her hand, grinding himself down against her in obvious want. 

Laces and belt undone, Hawke began tugging down on his pants, managing to free him, mostly, from his confines, and then tugging off his underclothes, letting his erection finally spring free.  Fenris was already pressing down against her, making this task slightly more difficult, but once he was divested of clothing he pushed more, alternating between adding pressure to her core with putting pressure on himself, and all the while not giving up his treasured find of Hawke’s breasts.

He did trail his hand down her body, however, until he was pulling up the bottom hem of her sleeping shift, rucking it up to her waist until he was able to handle her smalls.  A few inefficient tugs downwards and then Fenris was snapping the string on them, earning him a huffed breath of indignation for Hawke, who felt the fabric pull and then rip.  He simply chuckled in amusement and moved off of her slightly to tug the rest of the intact garment up further.  Hawke helped him here, simply so that she wouldn’t be out a sleeping shift (and a perfectly good one, as well!) and slid the other side of the torn smalls down her hip and over her thigh, tossing it onto the floor alongside the shift.  She doubted she would get much in the way of actual sleep tonight.

Fenris smiled lazily, drawing his eyes over her and taking her form in with as much pleasure as she’d seen on his face.  His fingers traced down the scar that went from her breast to her hip, the smile faltering just slightly then, until the heel of his palm brushed against the top of the dark thatch of curls covering her mound.  Hawke moaned slightly then and spread her legs apart slightly without thinking, and the smile returned to Fenris’s features, more smirk than smile, and eager at that.  His fingers trailed down her slit, causing Hawke to breath in sharply and bite her bottom lip in anticipation, and when two fingers spread her open and his thumb brushed against her clit she moaned softly and fisted her hands into her bedclothes, unable to stop the involuntary jerk upwards that her hips gave.

“You are eager tonight,” Fenris said, his smirk growing smug.

“You are teasing,” she accused him, drawing in breath more deeply and licking her lips.  “Because you won’t have to be the one to wake up in a few hours to feed Bethy.”

“That is true,” he acknowledged, bending his head down to press a soft kiss between her breasts.  “Then I should speed things up.  I would hate to deny you this.”  Hawke groaned and felt her head thump back onto the bed lightly while he dragged kisses around her breasts and then down her sternum, across the gentle swell that remained of her stomach and to her belly button, lightly tickling the skin there with his lips and the silvery-white hair that fell down around his face and brushed her skin.

“Fen-RISS,” she said, digging her heels into the bed.  He chuckled and swiftly brought his lips down the rest of her body, to her entrance, and ran his tongue up her slit to where his thumb rested against her clit.  Hawke moaned wantonly and shifted herself under him, while Fenris brought his free hand to her hip to hold her in place, palm splayed out over her thigh and rubbing small, feathery-light circles over the sensitive skin.

Then he was doing something positively _wicked_ with his tongue, sliding it back to her entrance and then inside of her while Hawke moaned and slid her legs over his shoulders, digging her heels into the lyrium markings in the back.  Fenris had already shown that, in situations such as this, with Hawke, any sort of touching on the markings between them seemed to make things feel _better_ as opposed to _worse_ , and so when he flared up blue-white, like her mage light, Hawke had hopes that he would decide to not drag this out all night.  If he was already flashing the lyrium….

But she breathed in sharply as his thumb returned to making circles and swirls around her nub while his tongue flickered in and out of her, as if trying to drink her up.  Hawke felt her eyes roll back and one hand went to her breast, taking a nipple between her fingers and rolling it to add to the sensation.  Just a little harder…

“More,” she whimpered, arcing her back up, keeping his head in place with her thighs.  “More,” she begged, and he obliged, slipping two fingers in place of his tongue and bringing his mouth back up so that he could suck and gently, oh so gently, touch his teeth on her clit.  “Fenris,” Hawke moaned, nails scrabbling through his hair for purchase, pulling his face down against her.  A tight feeling began coiling in her core and she ran with it, held onto it, rode the wave of tension as it built up.  One more moment, one more breath, just a little more pressure—

“Ma!” came a crying sound.  Bethy.  Bethy’s room.  Hawke shot up in a flash, jerking away from Fenris, who fell forward slightly.

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” he cursed, scrambling off the bed to find his underclothes, while Hawke ran from the room completely naked, her only thoughts of Bethy and her safety.

It was dark in the room, but Hawke immediately summoned a magelight, eyes scanning everywhere, looking for what had upset her daughter, looking for the threat. 

Bethy lay in her crib, blinking owlishly at the sudden light, tears in her eyes.  “Ma,” the infant said, then began suckling on her hand, pulling it away and leaving great strings of drool behind.  “Mamamama dadada ma,” Bethy said, decisively.

“Maker’s breath,” Hawke breathed out, sitting down heavily in the rocking chair the room boasted.  Fenris poked his head in, glanced around like Hawke had done, and scowled before withdrawing, a cursed “ _vishante kaffas_ ” left in his wake.  Her heart was pounding, and she knew Fenris’s was, too; he may have been irritated at their… interruption… but she had half-hoped that his _distraction_ tonight was to help distract from the very real fears she was feeling.  Perhaps he needed it as much as she did?

“Mamamamama,” Bethy said again, and then did her squealing laugh.  Hawke huffed a chuckle, and left the magelight hovering in the room so that she could go to her own and pull on some new smalls and her sleeping shift.  Bethy would be sleeping with them, tonight, after all.

Just as she was emerging from her room, dressed for sleep again, Fenris emerged from the washing chamber.  “She is unharmed,” he said.  Not a question.

“I don’t think she was completely asleep,” Hawke told him.  “And I might have been a little… loud.”

“Ah.  Yes.  Well,” was all Fenris said to that.  He made for her bedroom – _their bedroom?_ Hawke truly didn’t know what to call it—and then a few minutes later Hawke joined him with Bethy safe in her arms, with a clean nappie on, just in case.

“I guess it’s bedtime for three tonight,” Hawke said, with false cheerfulness.  Fenris just shrugged and got into what had become his side of the bed; Hero, hearing the three of them still up and moving around, padded into the room, wagging his nub of a tail as if to tell them that he was being a good boy and deserved some biscuits. 

It was the work of moments to get settled back into bed, with Fenris and Hawke on either side of Bethy, and only a moment after the magelight was extinguished before Hero jumped up onto the foot of the bed and turned around several times to settle in. 

“I wonder if Carver realizes that this is pretty much what married life is like,” Hawke mused, softly.

“He saw your parents, growing up, did he not?  Besides, it is better than many lives, I would think.”

“It was different, growing up.  It’s all we’d ever known.  Living in Lothering… well, that’s the longest we had spent anywhere, you know, and life was much more settled by then.  But it’s different when you’re growing up, because you can’t picture anything else.  And then when anything else happens, it’s a kind of shock and you just flow into place again, like a river seeking the easiest path.”

“And you do not think it was that easy, for your mother and father?”

“I don’t know,” Hawke confessed.  “I never asked Mother, after Father died.  I was too busy… well, filling in his shoes.  I didn’t have time, and then when I did have time, habit just… Got in the way.”  She felt his hand reach for hers, and they tangled their fingers together.  “But you don’t have to be married to love someone, or to be in their life.”

“But doesn’t it make certain things easier?” Fenris asked.  “Inheritance, for example.”

“Bethy’s already my legal heir,” Hawke told him.  “And I wouldn’t try to pressure you into something you weren’t ready for.”

“You’ve never really _asked_ me if I was ready, Marian.  You’ve just assumed.”  She bit her tongue at that; it was true, she had just assumed.

“Perhaps we should speak about this tomorrow, then,” Hawke said, slowly.

“Tomorrow, then,” Fenris agreed, after a long moment had stretched out too long.  He reached over and kissed Hawke’s lips quickly, and then pressed a kiss to Bethy’s head.  The child lay there and made gurgling noises, babbling her “mamama” sounds (not true words, as Hawke had learned, but on her way to true words.)

“Tomorrow,” Hawke said, smiling and closing her eyes.  Maybe they could talk about it tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using my own experience with my two youngest to map out a lot of Bethy's development. My middle child hit her milestones ridiculously early and was speaking in full, understandable sentences by 9 months old, as well as walking by then. Very very early. My youngest was only a little bit behind her in hitting his milestones. So if it seems like Bethy starts doing stuff too early, I'm pulling some of this right out of my own children's baby books.
> 
> Please let me know if you notice any typos or continuity errors or just have any sort of constructive criticism of any kind to give. I'm always looking to improve!


	25. In Good Times and Bad Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris host an All Soul's Day dinner party, and then Hawke and Fenris quarrel about women in the workplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone keeping track at home, this chapter takes place around August, 9:35 Dragon, and Bethy is about 7 months old.

Despite her promise that they would talk about the whole “marriage” business the next day, Hawke found ways to put the talk off, even if she did it unconsciously.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to Fenris about the topic, but the more she avoided it, the easier it was to avoid, and the more reflexively she put up barriers between them and the conversation.

There was also the fact that she was so joyful to be _home_ and so happy to be back with Bethy.  Her baby had changed so much over the near-month they were gone, not just growing bigger but developing new skills.  When Aveline stopped by for an early afternoon lunch, Hawke was amazed at seeing Bethy pull herself up to a standing position using the small table in the library and gushed about it to her friend.

“Oh, she’s been doing that a few weeks now,” Aveline said, unthinking.  Guilt flashed through Hawke, hot and queasy, and at the pale look on her friend’s face, Aveline tried to backtrack and make her words sound better and less accusatory.

It didn’t work, however; Hawke knew that she was at fault for leaving Bethy behind, and she wanted to feel the guilt so that she could undergo some sort of punishment.  Fenris told her to stop being absurd, and that, while it was her choice to go, the way things turned out, it was best that she had.  Hawke knew it for truth as he said it: she was the only one who was able to operate the key-staff, which now sat there with her other staves, but in a position of more importance.  If she hadn’t been along, neither of the other two mages nor Carver would have been able to use it, and they would have been trapped there.  Plus, with all the fighting, having a second Healer along had been imperative.  And she _knew_ this.  She _knew_ these things, and it didn’t matter, because Hawke wanted to punish herself.

So she spent the first two weeks back in Kirkwall taking care of her family and catching up on any important correspondence that simply couldn’t wait.  There was a mess of it, that was certain, and with the dual diversions of Bethy and paperwork, Hawke was able, well enough, to hedge on any sort of life-altering conversations with Fenris.  For his part, Fenris didn’t seem to mind, or perhaps he simply didn’t notice that he never had the intended talk with Hawke, for no accusing conversations about _avoided_ conversations were brought to her by him, and so Hawke was, more or less, content.

And of course, the end of Solace brought the beginning of August and All Soul’s Day into fast orbit.  Hawke knew that she would be expected to host for the holiday, and she knew that Carver would be there, as well as the rest of her friends.  That meant _the conversation_ that she had been putting off with Fenris would get brought up by her brother no matter what she wanted, and on top of that this would be the second All Soul’s Day without Mother, but the first with Bethy. At less than a year old, Bethy was far too young for the various plays and public bonfires that would attend the holiday, and she wouldn’t understand the reasoning behind the various parades with people dressed as spirits in order to honor the dead, but it was still a holiday, and each holiday that crept up seemed to be important to celebrate, in Hawke’s mind.  They were milestones as surely as the first time her baby smiled at her, or laughed, or the first time she pulled herself up to standing, holding onto the table edge for dear life.

So Hawke had a talk with Orana and managed to get preparations for her friends and some select society members to come celebrate All Soul’s Day at the Hawke/Amell estate.  This still left her in the precarious position of presenting Fenris as he was: for truly, what _was_ he?  The term “boyfriend” was crude and insufficient; the term “lover” was too risqué and insufficient; the term “husband” was incorrect, for it was not so, legally.  And if it were just going to be her crew there, she and Fenris would have no reason to present as anything that they were not; their complicated terminologies were, if nothing else, a source of amusement to her merry band of misfits, for they enjoyed how Hawke always tried to over-complicate things that should be simple, and teasing Fenris about it was nearly a group pastime.  But there would be _Society_ _People_ coming, old friends of her mother’s family and people with whom she had special connections, usually through work or in helping her with her crusade against Meredith in the Viscount’s seat in all but name (and _really_ , the woman had some nerve, refusing three perfectly good Viscount potentials because she was so concerned over the idea of “blood magic” that simply wasn’t there; everyone and their uncle knew that Meredith just wanted the power for herself, and it seemed like Elthina was all too happy to have the Chantry and the Templars in charge of Kirkwall, to the detriment of the city!)  Simply put, they were not people whom she could turn away without some sort of offense, if she were to hold the All Soul’s Day dinner at her house, and she could do nothing else, because of society position.

Sometimes Hawke regretted buying back their estate and title, when it led to issues such as this.

And so, Hawke decided, for herself, at least, that she would simply introduce Fenris as “Fenris,” without any sort of title or honorific, should introductions be required.  His lack of a proper status in Kirkwall as well as the lack of a surname for him caused issues, but they were nothing she hadn’t handled before, and they would be nothing that she and he wouldn’t be able to handle in the future.

And here was hoping that _he_ didn’t take offense at the idea. 

* * *

 

“Marian,” Fenris called to her, softly, from the other side of the library.  Hawke looked up from the book she was engrossed in, blinking slightly to clear away her thoughts, where Fenris was standing, bent at the knees, Bethy’s hands in his and taking very fragile, tentative steps forward.

“Oh my,” Hawke said, letting the book settle down on her lap.  “When did this happen?”

“Just now,” Fenris assured her.  Bethy wobbled for a moment, where she was standing, and then slowly put one foot in front of the other, drew it back, and put it forward again, as if she were unsure of how the entire thing was supposed to go.  Hawke laughed, delighted, which drew Bethy’s attention over towards her; the child lost her footing and then sat down on her bottom rather quickly, Fenris helping her the entire time.

“You are so big, Bethy,” Hawke cooed, grinning at her daughter.  For her part, Bethy didn’t seem to think she had done anything special, simply looking around before sticking her fist back in her mouth and examining the line of drool there.  Fenris took the opportunity to stand straight and knuckle his back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

“She will be walking and talking before we are quite ready,” Fenris told her.  He seemed so relaxed and so at peace, there in Hawke’s estate, with their daughter.  He was quicker to laugh and slower to anger, although he still did not seem to want to spend a lot of time around others, which Hawke understood.  And he was still slow to trust, which was something else she understood.  He spent virtually no time in his mansion anymore, only dropping by with Hawke to check and make sure nothing had disappeared, although Hawke was unsure as to how he would be able to tell.  He had spent every night the last two weeks at Hawke’s estate with her and Bethy, to the point where Orana was washing his things along with theirs and setting a place for Fenris without even being consulted on the matter.  At first, Fenris seemed to want to argue about this, but Hawke explained that this was just how things were going to have to go from now on, and Fenris subsided with only a slightly irritated look.  Dance around the topic of _marriage_ all she wanted, but for all intents and purposes, she and Fenris were living as if they were wedded.

With a glance up at the clock, Hawke started.  “Maker’s breath, the guests will be here in two hours!”  She scooted to the edge of the armchair, replacing the marker in her book to hold her place.  “We need to get Bethy washed and dressed.  And I daresay we could use baths, too.”

Fenris shrugged uncomfortably.  “I do not need another bath; I bathed last night, Hawke.”  She grinned to herself; whenever she got him to call her “Hawke” in that tone, she knew she was irritating him, but in a particularly fun way.  Fenris could be most fun to irritate sometimes.

“Well, perhaps _I_ am in need of another one, then.”  Maker’s mercy, she had learned _some_ things from her mother.  “You know the de Launcets will be here early, to try to catch a glimpse of something scandalous.  If we’re not ready by then, they just might.”

“Why?  Were you planning something potentially scandalous?” he asked, lazily bending down to pick Bethy up.

“Everything’s scandalous when you’re nobility,” she informed him.  “Especially when it comes to discrete elven lovers?”

“Discrete?  Hardly that,” he replied, sounding amused.

“You do rather stick out like a sore thumb,” she said. 

“Like a sore thumb?  But nobody wants a sore thumb around.  I suppose this is your way of telling me you wish me to leave?”  He arched a brow, deadpan.

“You got me,” she informed him, standing and straightening out her skirts and settling her bodice.  “But truly, we have to get Bethy bathed and dressed.  She’s going to be passed around so much tonight that if she doesn’t smell good, people will talk.”

“People always talk.  Isn’t that what you just said?”

“Yes, but I want them to talk about how good she smells and what an excellent mother I am, not that she smells like she’s not had a bath in weeks and that I’m absolutely wretched.”  A couple of steps brought her to Fenris and she took Bethy from him, grinning brightly at her daughter.  Maker, but Bethy was beautiful.  Her eyes hadn’t changed to green, if they ever would, but they were large and blue, surrounded by the long, dark lashes that she and Fenris both shared.  His eyes were more tilted than Hawke’s, and you could see him there in the shape, and in the slightest elongation of her ears.  Anyone who didn’t know she was elf-blooded wouldn’t suspect a thing; Bethy would always be able to pass as human, never as an elf.  If this fact bothered Fenris, he hadn’t said anything to her about it.

Those large eyes blinked at her mother, and then one damp fist came out to grab at a lock of hair that had escaped the ponytail Hawke customarily wore it in.  Bethy tugged on it sharply and Hawke felt her head go forward with the pulling, making an irritated sound.  Babies.  Not that strong, but always using their entire strength when they want something!  Fenris came to her rescue, removing the errant hair from Bethy’s hand with only a few of them lost to the cause, and Hawke rolled her eyes and wrapped the tiny fingers of the offending hand around her index finger.

“If you want something to grab, little miss, you can grab this.  If you pull it, you won’t rip my hair out, that’s for sure certain.”

“Do you think she is teething?  Aveline said she might be.”

“And how much does Aveline know about babies, anyway?”

“I… believe you are correct, there.  She knows less than either of us, I am certain of that.”

“But you still think she is teething.”

“I do not think I know whether or not she’s teething, and thus the point is moot.”  Fenris said, dismissively.  Hawke smirked in his general direction and gently tried to pull her finger away from Bethy, who held onto it tightly and shriek-laughed at her mother.

In the end, only Bethy got the bath, but Hawke decided that she and Fenris truly did not need them.  One of the benefits of civilization was the ability to have hot baths daily, she felt, and one of the benefits of being a mage was the ability to create hot water on demand.  All that meant that Hawke must be the most civilized mage of the Dragon Age.

The All Soul’s Day dinner was a somber affair, and was most likely being repeated all throughout Thedas at that very hour.  The food and drink were, of course, delicious, and Hawke put on a brave smile for her guests.  Carver drank too much and flirted outrageously with Merrill, and the Comtesse de Launcet tried to bring up the idea of marriage between her daughter, Fifi, and Carver, which earned her scornful laughter from Carver, which in turn earned _him_ nearly being drug into the hall closet by his ear and a scathing talking-to by his sister, who informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he was to behave himself as befitted his station and learn to accept marriage proposals gracefully while turning them down with aplomb. 

Hawke was quite pleased that Isabela was acting her usual self; it would mean apologies to her more noble guests later, and tutting over Isabela’s horrible flirtations and innuendos, but while it was going on, even though All Soul’s Day was supposed to be a more sober and calm holiday, Hawke reveled in it.  This was the first All Soul’s Day in Kirkwall without her mother, the last one having been spent in Grunding while pregnant with Bethy, and these were, for the most part, friends of her mother’s rather than her own friends. 

Eventually, and thankfully, the festivities ended, and Hawke was glad to see the backs of everyone who bothered to leave.  Merrill was curled up on the sofa in her library and she wasn’t about to kick the little Dalish out, and Carver was making noises about wanting to stay in his room instead of going back to the barracks, probably because Merrill was there and he wanted more time with her in the morning.  Anders was sleeping it off, whatever _it_ was, in his usual guest room (which Hawke always thought to make up just for him and to install a lock on the door so that he could have a bit of privacy when he wanted it, because who knew when he might want to “bring home” a young lady?  Well, probably never, considering it was Anders and he was still as in love with Hawke was he had been, but a girl could hope) and Bethy was down at her customary time, curled up in her crib with the increasingly-ragged teddy bear, leaving just herself, Fenris, Orana, and Bodahn up to get things cleaned up. 

Leftovers were wrapped and put away, dishes were mostly washed (those that couldn’t wait until the next day, that is; Hawke might have cheated a bit and helped things along with her magic.  There was no reason to have magic if not to serve them, after all.)  It was closer to sunrise than it was midnight when Hawke finally sent Orana and Bodahn off to find their rest, and she stopped in to check on Bethy, who was sleeping rather soundly.  This was not the first time she had slept through the night, and Hawke knew it wouldn’t be the last, but it was good that she wasn’t needing to wake as regularly anymore, although it meant that she was losing her baby for a child.

“Ready to bed?” she asked Fenris, knuckling her back.  It ached, from all the walking and standing.  She must be getting old and out of shape, for a night of somber revelry to take her that badly.

“I will probably sleep past noon,” came the dour reply.  He hadn’t been asked to stay up with her, nor was it required of him, yet he had done it with no complaints.  In fact, Fenris had been fairly good company, and if she weren’t so tired, she would reward him for his diligent help.

“At least the Comtesse wasn’t trying to marry _you_ off,” she told him, holding her hair up and out of the way so that he could undo the buttons on her dress.

“As if that would work.  Who would marry an elven slave?” he snorted.  Hawke rolled her eyes.

“You’re not a slave anymore, Fenris,” she reminded him in a chiding tone.

“Regardless,” came the reply.

“Regardless, _you_ got to escape that.  Carver and I did not.”  She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a yawn.  “Maker’s mercy,” she complained, stepping out of the dress once the buttons were done far enough and unwinding the breast band around her chest.  “You’d think she wouldn’t be so pushy about getting Fifi married off.  The girl’s not yet twenty.”

“Not yet twenty, but could give mares a run in the face,” Fenris commented dryly.  She smacked him in the back of the head, which earned herself a disapproving look.

“Looks aren’t everything,” she told him.

“Pardon me,” he said.  “I suppose she’ll get by on her winning personality.  Hopefully, she’ll find her match in someone who enjoys sitting around and watching paint dry.”  Hawke bit her bottom lip and stifled the giggle that wanted to escape; poor Fifi.  Plain _and_ boring to boot; the woman truly did have poor luck.

“It’s no wonder that Carver isn’t interested in her,” Hawke said, pulling out her nightgown from her dresser drawer.  Fenris was busy getting out of his own tunic and trousers, wiggling his toes now that they were free of the uncomfortable and unfamiliar shoes that she had talked him into wearing.  “Although only a fool could miss that he’s taken with Merrill.”  She tugged the gown on over her head and settled it around her hips, wiggling her own toes.  Pointy-toed shoes should be outlawed, no matter how much Aveline insisted they looked good on her.  Isabela hadn’t helped in that regard, either; the pirate had positively _gushed_ over how well they looked on Hawke.

Hawke pulled back the covers on the bed and flopped down into her spot, groaning slightly at how good her bed felt.  She would wind up not getting a lot in the way of sleep, even if she fell out right then, but she could enjoy the feeling her bed had to offer her: cool sheets, comfortable mattress, fluffy pillow.  “I think I’ll just die right now,” she muttered, trying to dislodge the hair from her mouth.

“I would be taken quite amiss if you decided to,” Fenris told her, sliding in next to her and stretching out himself with a pleased sort of grunt.  Hawke cuddled up to him, resting her head on his chest, and Fenris brought his arms around her, hugging her tightly against him and kissing the top of her head.

“You were good tonight,” Hawke said, smiling faintly.

“Was I?”

“You know you were.  I’ll make a noble out of you yet.”

“I cannot see why you’d want to.  The shoes are horrible.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” she replied, yawning again.  She snuggled against him again, and soon her breathing evened out and Hawke fell asleep.

* * *

“Chauncey,” Hawke said, holding the bear out to Bethy.  The child squealed with laughter and tried to grab for the toy, but Hawke pulled it away gently.  “Chauncey,” she said again, slowly.

“Ma da da da da da,” Bethy agreed, opening and closing her little hands with eagerness.  Hawke shook her head in dismay.

“I fear she’s never going to learn how to actually talk,” she said to Fenris, who was lounging in one of the armchairs, seemingly engrossed in the thick tome he was holding.

“She is an infant,” he said, dryly.  “She will learn at her own pace.”

“Ma da da ma ma da da da,” Bethy said again, creeping forward on her bottom. 

“Chauncey?” Hawke asked, with more enthusiasm than hope.

“Chauncey is an absurd name for a child’s toy,” Fenris said, turning the page slowly.  “Why would you choose such a thing?”

“Xenon suggested it,” Hawke muttered, giving up and handing the stuffed bear over to Bethy, who cooed and giggled, then set upon its ear with her drooly mouth.  She had been drooling a lot, lately, and was fussy when the drooling was the worst.  Anders told Hawke that Bethy was teething, and to expect teeth before too long, but that there was little to be done to ease the discomfort apart from Healing, and there was no need to Heal one so young from something so natural.

“Xenon,” Fenris scoffed, marking his place in the book and glaring at Hawke.  “You did not take her to see _Xenon_ , did you?”

“Would I do something like that?” she said, affronted.  She was also hedging; indeed, Hawke had brought Bethy with her the last time she visited the Black Emporium.  Xenon was creepy and odd and very probably dead, but he had also helped Hawke on numerous occasions, including hiding her and her crew from rogue Templars who were searching for Anders, and Hawke wouldn’t let Fenris stop her from taking Bethy to visit the Antiquarian, so long as the… man… wished for visitors.

But Fenris merely shook his head and frowned, then returned to his study of the book in his hands.  They had been… arguing… more lately, since the All Soul's Day party that Hawke had hosted, and neither of them wanted to argue over something like _that_ when it could be avoided.  Not that the next topic of discussion could be avoided for much longer…

“Speaking of Xenon,” Hawke said, after clearing her throat.  “I was thinking of doing a little bit of housecleaning in Darktown.  Maybe tomorrow night.”

“You want to voluntarily go to Darktown?  At night?  _Tomorrow_ night?” Fenris stared at her as if he couldn’t believe the words she was saying.

“Well, yes.  I do have a job to do, Fenris, even if you don’t like it.”

“Of course I don’t like it,” he growled.  “You should be at home with our child, not mucking about in Darktown at night.  Do you have a death wish?  Because that’s how you die, Hawke.”

“I wasn’t going by myself, you know,” Hawke huffed, turning away from him slightly and pretending to focus all her attention on Bethy, who was mercilessly gumming Chauncey’s ear.  “Varric and ‘Bela both said they’d come with me.”

“And leave you without an actual fighter?  How were you going to explain your disappearance to me?”

“I was _going_ to talk about it to you right now, like rational adults,” she countered.  Bethy grew bored with the bear and flung it down, then decided to start trying to crawl across the room again.  Hawke knew she would get it someday, probably sooner rather than later.

“What did you expect me to do, Hawke?  Just let you go off, the three of you?  I know you’re a good Healer, but you’re awful at combat magic.  You need to have another fighter with you.  If you do not trust me to go—“

“I trust you!” she interjected, turning to face him with brows drawn, but Fenris marched over her words with his own.

“If you do not trust me at your back, then at least take Aveline, or Sebastian.  Better to have at least one other there who can do more damage than you can.”

Hawke crossed her arms under her breasts and scowled for all she was worth.  Fenris met her look with a bland one, one brow arched slightly.  “I am not as bad as you’re trying to make me out to be, Fenris J. Hawke!”

“Hawke,” he said, a warning tone.

“Fenris,” she said, matching his warning tone with one of her own.

“I will not allow you to go—“

“ _Allow me_?  You will not _allow_ me to go?  Who are you, my father?”

“I am thinking about what’s best for Bethy—“

“You are treating me like some kind of helpless child!”

“You are acting like a child!”

“You’re acting like an ass!”

“Hawke, there is no call for—“

“There’s no call for you treating me like I can’t handle myself in a fight.  It’s just Darktown.  Need I remind you about how well I was able to hold my own back in the Vinmarks?”

“Need I remind you about how many times you faced serious injury?  Without the abomination there—“

“Without _Anders_!”

“Without him, and without the blood mage, and without your brother, we would have been strongly overrun within the second fight, and you know it.”

“Well, if you mistrust my ability to fight so much, why don’t you come along?”

“Because someone needs to stay here and watch Bethy!  I’m not going to go haring off just because you’ve decided to be bored with housewifery!”

“I am _not_ ‘bored with _housewifery_ ,’ thank you very much!  I am not _even_ a _housewifery_!”

“Because you won’t sit still to have discussions with me about important things and now you leave it up to me to stay behind to watch Bethy while you go out and have some fun.  You’ll probably wind up at The Hanged Man after—“

“And so what if I do?  I deserve a chance to have some fun every now and then!”

“And then you’ll get drunk with Isabela and who knows where you’ll wind up.”

“I’ll wind up back here, thank you, Fenris, although I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

The loud crying sound suddenly interrupted their “discussion,” and Hawke glanced over to see Bethy sitting there, face screwed up and red, tears streaming down her cheeks, hands balled into fists.  Her heart gave a lurch and she reached out to her daughter instinctively, drawing her onto her lap and cuddling the child against her breast. 

“Shhh, shhh, what’s wrong?”

“Your screeching has driven our child to tears,” Fenris said, angry.  He stood up and flung the book down onto the little table with more force than was strictly necessary.  “I need some air,” he muttered, and stalked out of the library.  Hawke sighed as Bethy sniffled, then realized her father was leaving the room and broke out into a wail anew.

“No, no, don’t scream, Bethy,” Hawke told her, gently bouncing the child in her lap.  “See?  Mama is here!”  She put a bright smile on her face, but Bethy was not buying such tactics. 

“Da da da da da,” she cried, and Hawke rolled her eyes.

“Your da da da da needs some air, insufferable man,” she told Bethy.  “He’ll be back in, and then we will discuss things like civilized adults.”  The look Bethy gave her was doubtful, and did little to stop the tantrum, but eventually she calmed down and started making hungry sounds.  A glance at the clock told Hawke it was about time for her to take her milk, anyway, but by the time preparations were done and Bethy was on her way to a nap, having taken the entire bubby pot full of warm goat's milk, Fenris had still not returned.

Hawke was settled on the sofa, reading a book of fairy stories to Bethy when she heard loud footsteps out in the hallway leading to the library.  Both she and Bethy looked over at the doorway expectantly, but Hawke knew Fenris would never make that much sound walking through the house.

She was right; it was Anders, appearing ragged and worn, his hair matted with blood and visible bruises on his face.  Hawke gasped and started to stand up, then remembered that Bethy was sitting on her lap there at the last minute and remained where she was sitting.  Bethy, excited to see her uncle Anders, started making pleased sounds at him and began gumming Chauncey again.

“Are you alright?” Hawke asked.

“I will be.  Templars… Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Of course!  You know you don’t even need to ask,” Hawke told him.  “Why don’t you go wash up and change into something clean?  There should be clothes in that dresser in your room, still.”

“I… yes,” he said, both looking and sounding distracted.  Anders turned back into the hallway, then turned into the library again as if he were going to say something, and then shook his head, thinking better of it, before heading back out into the hallway again.

Hawke tried to finish reading the story to Bethy, but the interruption had gotten the child keyed up, and she had little interest in settling down again.  She was still awake when Anders came back into the library, his hair damp from his bath and wearing a plain tunic and pants, as well as a pair of socks with a hole in one heel.  He had apparently Healed whatever damage had been done, for Hawke saw no more bruises on his face, and he was walking straighter, as if he were not in pain.

“Care to tell me what happened?” she asked him as he settled into one of the armchairs, a distant look in his eyes.

“No… it’s just Templars.  Don’t worry, I didn’t lead them right to your doorstep or anything.”

“I didn’t think you would have,” she said, earnestly.  “I’m less worried about Templar raids than I am about your safety.”

“It’s for the best that you don’t know everything, Hawke,” he said, leaning back and resting his hands on the chair arms.  Anders closed his eyes and sighed, visibly relaxing.

“I can help you, Anders.  I don’t always agree with you, but you’re doing good things and I’d like to be a part of them.”

“I can’t get you involved in the Mage Underground, though, Hawke.  If I did, then you would draw more attention to us, with your title and your money.  The best way to keep you safe and to keep us safe is to make sure you know as little as possible.”

“Mage Underground?” came Fenris’s voice from the doorway.  His tone was flat and angry.  “Is that why you were really going out tomorrow night, Hawke?  You wanted to go flitting around with the Mage Underground?”

“Fenris, no,” Hawke began, darting a look between the two men.  “That’s not what I was wanting to do and you—“

“And you’re letting her risk herself?  Risk Bethy?”  His hands curled into fists and he scowled at Anders.  “I thought you cared about her, abomination.  Cared about both of them.  But you’re involving her in your schemes to free mages, putting her and my daughter at risk.”

“I’m not doing that, you fool—“

“Hawke, how could you do such a thing?”  He sounded torn between being angry and being disappointed.  Hawke flinched, and Bethy started whimpering again.

“Fenris, my plans for going out tomorrow night had nothing to do with the Mage Underground.  I want to work.  I have a _job_.”

“I cannot believe you,” he told her, and then spun on his heel.  A few moments later she heard the front door slam solidly behind him as he left, and she sighed and closed her eyes, tilting her head back to rest on the sofa behind her.  Bethy started sniffling, about to cry in earnest, and she felt the child be picked up out of her arms.  There was the sound of low voices talking, and when she dared open her eyes again, Anders was sitting in the chair as before, and Orana was carrying Bethy out of the room, back straight and obviously full of disapproval.

“Want to talk about it?” Anders asked, when he noticed that she was back in the world of the paying attention.

“We… quarreled… earlier.  I want to work, he doesn’t want me to,” she said, shrugging uncomfortably.

“Knowing your line of work, Hawke, I don’t blame him.”

“I just wanted to go take out some Darktown gangs, Anders.  It’s not like I was even going to go by myself.”

“He’ll be back later,” Anders assured her.  “Orana said to tell you that dinner was ready.  Let’s go eat something.  You’ll probably feel better afterwards.”

Anders was partially right: Hawke did feel a little better after eating dinner, and then a little better more after soaking in a hot, bubbly bath for an hour, but Fenris did not return that night.  Nor did she see him the next day; Anders hung around the house with her, trying to cheer her up and help with Bethy in general.  For her part, Bethy did not take to the absence of her father very well, and spent a good deal of time crying for him, which made Hawke feel more tense than she had already been feeling. She even left Bethy in her estate while she tried to track down Fenris at his mansion, but, although the bed had been slept in, he was not there.

Hawke leaned against the door to the one room that Fenris really used, scanning the room for any sign of where Fenris might have been, but all it told her was that he would probably return, not where he had gone.  She tilted her head against the wooden door-frame and sighed heavily.  She hadn’t wanted to fight with him, but neither did she want him to tell her what to do, what she may do, who she may associate with.  She was an adult and he needed to respect her choices.  She was the city’s Champion, for Andraste’s sake!  She was _supposed_ to be clearing out gangs and making Kirkwall generally safer for everyone, Darktown residents included.

But the row wasn’t called for, and she had made it worse, if she would admit it to herself, at least.  She could have deescalated the situation, or phrased things better, so that she didn’t antagonize Fenris.  She could have gone after him when he left, instead of just _letting_ him leave, especially the second time.  It might not have done any good, but letting him just walk out like that had _certainly_ not done any good. 

When dinnertime came around again, Hawke was back at her home.  She had left Fenris a short note on the bed in his mansion, apologizing and asking him to return, but he did not return for dinner, and Bethy’s bedtime came and went without a sign from him.  Hawke was fretting now, and all Anders could do was make sympathetic noises and try to distract her with chess games, and Diamondback.

When she entered the kitchen the next morning and Fenris was at the table, Bethy on his lap, the two of them eating and unconcerned, the odd tension in her chest lifted.  At least he was okay.  Whether _they_ were okay would remain to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this being late. Another damned fibro flareup, coupled with everyone in the house getting the stomach flu (yes, I know it's not really a flu, but you know what I mean) and bronchitis *at the same time*
> 
> However, I used some of my not-writing time wisely, and I actually fleshed out the story all the way through the end. So it's outlined and there are another 14 chapters after this one! So I'm looking at about 40 chapters total. I'm updating that now, and hoping I can stick to it.
> 
> I'm also working with someone on getting some visual art for this story, and I'll be updating certain chapters as the artwork for it becomes available. 
> 
> Please feel free to give me all the constructive criticism you want! If you see continuity errors (and I'm noticing them more now, myself!), grammar errors, or something just doesn't seem to fit right, let me know :-) 
> 
> And for all of you who have left kudos and comments, you have no idea how good those make me feel. Thank you ^_^


	26. It's Carver's Party and He Can Party if He Wants To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris spend some time apart. Hawke doesn't like it. Fenris... is an unknown. Carver has a birthday party. Hilarity ensues.

Fenris was not with Hawke when Hawke first noticed the two small bottom teeth poking through Bethy’s gums.

It wasn’t as though Hawke noticed the teeth at first, either.  They were too small and she was too used to gummy smiles to really pay that much attention.  However, when Bethy took Hawke’s index finger into her mouth and bit down, Hawke yelped in pain, retrieving said finger and staring at it in shock, then opening Bethy’s mouth to stare at the two small white teeth poking up through the gums.

Anders was with her, keeping Hawke company while Fenris wasn’t there, and she shared a wide-eyed look with him before bursting into tears, clutching a protesting Bethy to her chest.

“Hawke?  I know she couldn’t have bitten you _that_ hard,” Anders said, rushing to her side.

“She’s… she’s got _teeth_ , Anders.  She’s growing into a person!”

He gave her an odd look and then pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.  Shaking his head, he said, “She’s growing up, Hawke.  Of course she’s getting teeth.”

“But she’s my baby,” Hawke protested, holding Bethy out slightly.  For her part, Bethy grabbed hold of Hawke’s tunic and yanked on it, getting saliva all over the plain cotton fabric.

“Even babies grow up, Hawke,” Anders said, settling down beside her and leaning back against the chair.  They were all three sitting on the floor together, a few scattered toys between them.  Hawke sniffled and set Bethy down to where the child could grab at the toys, and then wiped her eyes with the heel of her palm. 

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready for it,” Hawke protested, after a moment of calming herself. 

“I’ve been told these things happen when you’re least expecting it,” Anders said, consolingly.

Hawke watched Bethy playing with the toys on the floor for a moment and crossed her arms under her breasts, leaning back against the sofa more fully.  “And Fenris is missing it.”

“Where did he go?”

“Who knows?” Hawke replied, with a shrug.  “Who knows where he goes when he goes off like this.”

“Did you two make up, after that fight?”

She shrugged again, this time uncomfortably.  “Not… really.  We sort of didn’t talk about it.  Or anything.  He’s just basically been spending most of his time at his mansion, only coming over when it’s time to eat, to see Bethy for a little while.  Then he leaves again.”

“Hawke…”

“Don’t, okay?  Just don’t.  If Fenris and I are having problems, it’s between the two of us, Anders.  I appreciate the concern but… don’t.”

“I just think you’d be better off with someone who isn’t so fickle.”

“I’d hardly call Fenris ‘fickle.’  He’s just… Anders, really, I said ‘don’t’ and I meant it.”

He placed a hand on Hawke’s arm and squeezed it gently.  “Well, you know where I am if you ever want to talk about it.  Or if you change your mind.”

“You’re such a nice guy,” she sighed.  “Why can’t you go find yourself a nice girl?  Or guy?  You could even bring them back here, if you wanted to.  You deserve better than sitting around and waiting for me, Anders.” 

He smiled at her, tremulously.  “You’re worth waiting for,” was all he said, and they lapsed into silence, watching Bethy together.

Really, it would have been so much easier if she had been able to love Anders.  Well, apart from the whole “Grey Warden” and “Calling” and “possessed by a spirit of Justice” business.  He was kind, a healer, not too bad looking, already completely devoted to herself and Bethy, and not liable to get up and leave or have big, emotional explosions all the time. 

When the silence had gone on too long to be comfortable, Hawke excused herself, after getting assurances that Anders would watch Bethy while she saw to some general correspondence.  She was used to having Fenris watching Bethy during these times, and it gave her a much-needed break, to see to business matters.  But with Fenris absent…

That was not a tear she brushed away from her eyes.  She wouldn’t let it be.  Fenris chose this, and Hawke was a big girl and could deal with things herself.  Besides, if he wasn’t interested anymore… He still had the ribbon wrapped ‘round his wrist, though.  Perhaps he just needed a break.  Perhaps all this was too overwhelming for him.  Hawke had to remind herself continuously that he had spent all his previous life in slavery before his escape, and that such things were not easily thrown off.  He seemed to need time to himself so that he could sort of get his head back on straight again, and, hopefully, this was just another one of those times.

That they had quarreled before he departed, however… 

No.  Hawke would not think anything more on the subject.  She forced herself to sit at her desk and go through her mail slowly, giving each letter the same amount of full attention that the others received.  A letter from Carver caught her attention and she quickly thumbed it open.

_Sister,_

_A reminder that my birthday is next week.  I’ll be getting a couple of days off for it and was hoping to stay with you then.  I expect a good party with plenty to drink.  Have Orana make that nut cake that she’s so good at doing._

_Fondly,_

_Carver_

_Why hadn’t he said anything about wanting a party when he was here for All Soul’s Day_? Hawke wondered.  Well, that would certainly prove to be the distraction that she needed: plan party for Carver, get Carver good present, procure lots of alcohol, have Orana make him a cake.  Easy enough, she decided, but time-consuming enough that she wouldn’t have to think overly much about Fenris and the problems set out between them.

She made a note to herself to see to planning the party –and who would he want there?  She couldn’t really trust any of the Templars to come into her house and run around.  She had too many different magical artifacts, including stuff from her father and tomes she had run across all throughout Kirkwall to trust Templars in her home for no good reason other than throwing Carver a birthday celebration! —and marked it on her calendar as well.  There.  One problem on its way to being handled, a thousand more piling up! 

* * *

 

Dinnertime had come and there was still no sign of Fenris.  This was… not entirely usual, for him, not that anything was typical of Fenris anymore.  But he was usually ‘round for dinnertime, at least, or in time to put Bethy to bed, which was usually not long after dinnertime was done and over. 

Bethy was reaching a point where she was very interested in the food that Hawke and the other adults were eating, even going so far as to try to grab at the fork of whomever was holding her; it was making dinners difficult, but having Fenris there to trade off with had eased things considerably.  Without him there, dinner felt… queer.  Uncomfortable, like they were missing the third leg of their tripod family.  Bethy especially noticed it, and spent a lot of time whimpering and looking towards the doorway to the dining room as if expecting her father to come in any moment.  Admittedly, Hawke was doing the same thing.

After dinner was over and Hawke had made sure Bethy had drank as much warm goat’s milk as she was going to hold, after baths were taken and clean gowns put on for sleeping, Hawke was cuddled in the rocking chair that was one of the staples of Bethy’s nursery room, holding her daughter and a storybook and trying valiantly to get her daughter to sleep when Fenris finally showed up, armor in disarray and blood matting in his hair and across the visible parts of him.

Hawke cried out in alarm, dropping the book and rising swiftly to her feet, depositing Bethy in her crib without any further ado and rushing to Fenris’s side.  The sound must have disturbed Anders, for the mage was up there swiftly, dressed for sleeping in an old, threadbare tunic and a pair of drawstring cotton pants.  He knew enough of Fenris to stay back, however, while Hawke refused to let the elf swipe her hands away no matter how much he muttered.  For her part, Bethy pulled herself to standing using the bars of her crib and cried pitifully at the group of them, a recitation of “Ma! Mamama!” over and over to try to draw attention, along with tears and sniffles.

“I am fine, Marian,” Fenris said for the third time, trying to brush seeking hands away.  Hawke ignored his words and hands both and grabbed the arm he was favoring, the one that looked as if he had been wrist-deep in slaver chests most of the night.

“Did you never stop to think that you could have brought us along if you needed help?”

“But I didn’t,” came the rough retort.  Anders snorted and brushed past the two of them to go check on Bethy, who had eyes only for her father and actually balled up her tiny fist and hit at Anders slightly with it.  He chuckled and gave her a quick snuggle, pressing a kiss to the top of her head while Hawke called on her mana and Delved through Fenris, locating the tiny cuts and bruises, the broken bone (the arm he favored was fractured, but it was a bad fracture; luckily it wouldn’t need setting) in his collar.  She tsked at him and then ran her Healing through his body without even asking his permission, deciding that showing up late and covered with blood was permission enough.  For his part, Fenris simply inhaled sharply and curled his hands into fists.

And that’s when Hawke noticed it: he no longer had the red ribbon tied around his right wrist.  She stilled and felt ice run through her body.  Perhaps… No.  She would not lie to herself, would not tease herself with any “perhaps” or “maybes.”  He had removed it and was acting this way because he no longer wished to be tied to her. 

She shook her head and rose to her feet, brushing bloodied fingers on her clean night gown before remembering that it _was_ clean.  Well, she could change easily enough, after washing up properly.

“You should clean yourself up,” she said, voice a hollow echo.  Fenris gave her a strange look, brows drawn down in puzzlement, but she simply turned to look at Anders.  “Is she alright?”

“Fine, I think.  I believe it was just a little bit of a shock, although I’d suggest Fenris get cleaned and changed as soon as possible.”  He glanced towards the bloody elf.  “She missed you, in case you were wondering.  It’s been a rough night.”

What may have been guilt flashed over Fenris’s face for an instant, but he schooled his expression to blankness quickly.  “I was busy with slavers,” he said, shrugging slightly, as if brushing off the concern.  “It was necessary.”

“Necessary,” Hawke said, as if tasting the word.  With a rueful shake of her head, she pushed out of the nursery and into her room, pulling the nightgown off over her head and discarding it in the clothes hamper.  A quick check in the mirror showed that it was just her hands that were bloody, and the pitcher and washbowl on the stand in the corner were enough to take care of that issue.  She had changed into something clean before too much time had passed, and when she got back into the nursery Anders was reading with Bethy in the chair, his hair down loose and Bethy starting to drift off, although she did look up expectantly when Hawke came in the room, as if waiting for her father.

“Hawke, you go on to bed,” Anders told her.  “Or at least go rest.  Fenris will see to putting her back to bed when he gets done.  I can stand reading to a baby for a little while longer.”

Hawke leaned on the doorway, titling her head against the wood.  “Thank you, Anders.” She felt the sadness well up inside of her suddenly.  He took off the ribbon.  He took it off.  She tried forcing the thought away, but it wouldn’t go.  He took it off.  Was he really out killing slavers all night? What if he were… _busy_ … elsewhere?

“Hawke?  Aren’t you….?”

She came to herself suddenly, startled.  “Sorry,” she muttered.  “I must be tired.”

“Go to bed,” Anders said gently.  “I’ve got her.”

“Right.  Goodnight.”  She padded back to her bedroom on bare feet, the hem of her nightgown swirling around her ankles, hoping she did not run into Fenris on the way there, hoping that she would not see the wrist that had held a ribbon on it for a year and now…

She bit her bottom lip sharply, drew blood, licked it away.  Tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks and she shut her door roughly, remembered herself and opened it back slightly again, so that she could listen out for Bethy.  Fenris had taken to sleeping in the room with Bethy, on nights that Anders didn’t sleep in the estate, but she slept with the door ajar, anyway, just in case she needed to hear out for her daughter.  It hadn’t been long enough since their time in the Vinmarks for that paranoia to have eased up, which may have been one of the causes of disagreement between herself and Fenris.  Perhaps he wasn’t wanting her to go out for fear that she would be in greater jeopardy, for fear that something would happen to Bethy?  And perhaps those fears had finally taken their toll and he had decided…. He decided…

Hawke came to herself with a start again and realized she had been staring into her fire.  This would not do.  She needed to get into bed, under the covers.  Then she could lose herself to introspection, wondering why Fenris had taken the ribbon off.  Pulling the blankets back, she crawled into bed, making a cursory swipe of her feet as she always did when not wearing shoes around the house, and tried settling back into a comfortable position.  Perhaps sleep would be quick coming.  Perhaps she wouldn’t lie awake and think, as she was doing right now.  Perhaps…

But sleep did not come to her tired body, not for a long time, and all she did was lie awake and think, and wonder, and give herself a right headache. 

* * *

The naked wrist haunted her.

Hawke tried not to let the pain show on her face, but it was obvious to everyone.  It _haunted_ her.  They all knew something was wrong, even if none of them quite knew what it was, and when she and Fenris were in the same room she was caught staring at him time after time, by everyone including himself.

It wasn’t even something she was doing on purpose.  She didn’t realize how much of a soothing balm that ribbon on his wrist had been, even during their worst fights, before.  That promise to be promised, that promise of a future together, no matter how distant, which had enabled her to run away from the idea of addressing said future, or marriage, or whatever else.  She had taken it for granted, apparently, and now that it was gone…

Hawke had never considered herself weak, or a coward, but facing that naked wrist, she realized that she couldn’t just _ask_ Fenris about it.  She couldn’t bring it up.  She was too weak to broach the subject, too much of a coward to face hearing confirmation of her fears.  So instead she hid her weakness behind effervescent bubbles of conversation, dulled her cowardice with effluviant smiles and constant changes of subject away from anything that might tempt her to bring it up, with anyone. 

Bethy was the best change of subject, although her behavior lately was getting harder for Hawke to use her as the shield she was quickly becoming.  For one, she was increasingly anxious anytime Fenris left, or was gone for too long.  This was doubly a bother because Fenris made it obvious that he was not going to stay over if Anders was, even though he had taken to sleeping on a cot in Bethy’s room.  If Anders spent the night in the guest room that had been given to him, Fenris slept at his mansion.  Hawke felt like she couldn’t rightly ask Anders to sleep elsewhere, especially not down in the clinic, but she _wanted_ Fenris around, if for no other reason than for Bethy’s peace of mind, and so she came to an uneasy truce in herself that she would ask Anders to sleep in his clinic every other night, if possible.  If either of the two men made any notice of this uneasy self-truce, they didn’t mention it to Hawke, at least.

She was planning on taking Bethy in for a checkup, to see Anders and check up on him in the clinic as well.  Seeing him around her estate was not the same as seeing him in action in his clinic, and he always had things down there he was running short on.  Hawke took stock as best she could and kept him in healing poultices and health potions and bandages and the like whenever she was able, and it was always easiest to take Bethy down there as an excuse.  But when she brought the topic up to Fenris, who had wanted to be at all Bethy’s previous checkups, the elf just scowled and said he would not be coming along this time.

Hawke simply could not understand his reactions lately.  Could he still be jealous of Anders?  She had done nothing to make him think that her attentions had been drawn back to the other mage, as far as she knew.  Did he truly think that she was working with Anders and the Mage Underground?  Not that Hawke wouldn’t, if she were given a chance, but that was _her_ choice to make and not Fenris’s to dictate to her whether or not she could.  It just… made little sense.  But she couldn’t _talk_ to Fenris about it, and he _wouldn’t_ talk to her, and so the two of them were at a standstill, apparently.

Since he wasn’t coming along, Hawke just went down through the secret passage with Bethy, casting out a magelight ahead of herself so that she could have adequate light and making sure that her barrier was up in case some of the less friendly denizens of Darktown had managed to get through the other barrier they kept erect and snuck into the passageway.

Everything was clear, however, and lucky on them.  Hawke had had to fight a few times, carrying Bethy around, and those who dared attack did not fare well.  Of course, she usually had someone else with her, and that someone was usually Fenris, but…

She wouldn’t think of that now.  Instead, she made her way into the clinic that was positioned not very far away from the cellar entrance, taking a quick look around and being slightly amazed at how busy it seemed to be.  With Bethy there and not in need of any Healing that Hawke couldn’t do herself, anyway, she quickly set the child on the floor with Chauncey and washed her hands up quickly in the suspiciously dirty looking water, wondering if she weren’t just making her hands even worse, before stepping up beside Anders and seeing if she couldn’t help the next person.

An hour went by, with quick looks at Bethy to make sure that her daughter was staying occupied, while Hawke and Anders took care of the waiting denizens of Darktown (and a few from Lowtown who knew that the Healer was a good person in a pinch.)  When Bethy finally started getting antsy and whiny, and had successfully gotten into a whole crate of health potions when neither she nor Anders were paying close enough attention, Hawke managed to snag Anders’s sleeve and asked him if he were willing to do the scheduled check up on Bethy.

“I can do it myself,” she said, “or we can wait until you come on up home and you can do it then.  It’s not a bother.”

Anders wiped his brow on the sleeve of his robe, then took a look around.  The clinic didn’t seem like it was much less crowded than it had when Hawke had come down initially.  Hawke was holding Bethy on one hip, bouncing her up and down lightly.

“If it can wait until tonight, I’ll close up early and be up there before dinner.  I can check her out then.  Any particular issues?”

“Just the teeth,” Hawke said, feeling the now-familiar flash of guilt.  “I’d stay and help you more, but she’s already getting into trouble.  I can see if Merrill can’t come and give you a hand—“

“Not Merrill,” Anders said, emphatically.  “She can’t Heal for spit.”

“But she can roll bandages and help a lot better than no one at all,” Hawke chided him, gently.  “And you seem like you need all the help you can get.”

“I don’t think—“

“ _I_ think I’ll go get Merrill,” Hawke interjected.  “Then I’ll drop Bethy off and we’ll both come down here and help some more.  Sound good?”  She rolled her eyes up at a stray lock of hair and blew a stream of air up gently, to try to get it out of her eyes.  Bethy thought this was the funniest thing of all time and laughed, trying to grab at the errant lock.  Anders had to come to the rescue and remove the strands from the small, damp, grabby fist.

“Fine, Hawke.  But she’s in your charge.  I don’t trust her to not use… _it_ … otherwise.”

“Fine,” Hawke agreed, and gave Anders a friendly pat on a feathered pauldron before making her way back upstairs and dropping Bethy off with Orana, with instructions for her upcoming feeding and naptime called over her shoulder on her way out to find Merrill.

Apparently, while Hawke was headed out to look for Merrill, Merrill was coming to look for her, ball of twine in hand as if it were a good luck talisman.

“Oh, Hawke, I’m so glad to see you!” she said, chipperly, a smile playing on her lips.  “I was just coming to find you.  Carver asked me about coming to his birthday party.  His birthday is soon, did you know?  Oh, of course you knew, he’s your brother and you were probably there, weren’t you?  When he was born, I mean.  But he said you were going to have a party at your estate and that he wanted to invite me personally so he wrote me a letter and it was ever so nice, although I think I’ll not let you read it, if you don’t mind.  And I was hoping you’d help me.” 

“How can I help?” Hawke asked, amused.  She linked her arm in with Merrill’s and the little Dalish positively beamed.

“Well, I wanted to get him a birthday present, but I wasn’t quite sure what to get him,” Merrill started, as Hawke lead the way back to her estate.  “I’m not really sure what he would like.  What do human boys like?  Or, well, men, I suppose, since Carver is a man, and he’s a very _big_ man, but he likes swording and… I suppose _man_ things, and I don’t know much of anything at all about _man_ things, and—“

“I’m not sure what to get him, either,” Hawke replied, laughter in her voice.  She was certainly _glad_ for this distraction.  Carver must really fancy Merrill if he were writing to her separately in hopes that she’d show up at his birthday party.  As if Hawke wouldn’t invite her, anyway; Merrill may be a blood mage, but she was the unlikeliest blood mage Hawke had ever met. 

“But you’re his sister!  Surely you’ve got a better idea than anything I can come up with.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Hawke said, chuckling.  Knowing Carver and Merrill, Merrill could show up wearing not very much at all and it would be better than anything Hawke could possibly dream up to get him.  And this was exactly what she needed: something to focus her mind on, to get it off her problems with Fenris, to keep her distracted from the _naked wrist_ and the problems therein.  Yes.

They chattered all the way to the clinic, where Merrill was only slightly surprised to find herself (she _could_ get very distracted easily, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing) and more than happy to be of help, considering that the bulk of those who sought help at the clinic were elves and Merrill was always happy to help her fellows.  Anders was certainly glad to see them back, and Hawke felt slightly guilty that they had not hurried; indeed, the line for help was even longer than it had been, and even Merrill was pressed into using her very small amount of Healing magic on the least of the troubles.  It was dark night out before the press of people finally abated, and all three of the mages had sore backs and depleted mana when there finally came enough of a break that they felt it was sufficient excuse to close the doors and douse the lantern.

Merrill had maintained her chipper attitude all evening, and even Anders seemed to be in a pleasant enough of a mood, probably due to how many people they were able to help.  The man was a Healer at heart, and getting even Merrill down there would have allowed him to treat half again as many as he normally could; with Hawke _and_ Merrill, it was more than double the number of people he could treat normally, and that had him in a fine mood.  He was nigh unto whistling, and Merrill was busy sweeping a broom when Bodahn found his way down and into the clinic, asking her if she were going to be late again for supper.

“Oh!  We’ll be right up.  Is Bethy alright?”

“She’s fine, Messere, just fine,” Bodahn assured her.  “But… Messere Fenris has not arrived back.”  And _that_ killed _any_ good mood she had.  The paling of her face was noticeable.

“That’s… fine.  He’s a free man and can come and go as he will.”  Oh, it fooled no one, but she had to make the statement any way.  “Please have Orana set a place for Messere Anders and Merrill, Bodahn.  We’ll be up shortly.”

“As you say, Messere,” Bodahn said, bowing, and seeing himself out of the clinic and back up into the cellar entrance.  Hawke worked the bandages she was rolling with entirely more enthusiasm than needed, forcing the smile onto her face so that the other two wouldn’t dare approach her with the unfortunate topic that seemed to want to derail her life lately.

“Where’s Fenris?” Merrill asked, and Hawke closed her eyes and ground her back teeth so as to suppress the sigh that wanted to escape her lips.

“I’m sure I can’t say,” Hawke said, instead, and before the silence went on too long.  Opening her eyes again, she saw Anders putting the vials of health potions away, obviously not looking at herself or Merrill, but Merrill was watching her with those large, green emerald eyes, too knowingly.

“He hasn’t been around a lot lately.  Did you two have a fight?”

“When aren’t they fighting?” Anders asked, muffled voice overly loud in the quiet of the clinic.

“We’re… not always fighting.  We just…”

“He doesn’t want you to go out on jobs,” Merrill said, knowingly, into the pause.

“What?  How did you—“

“Isabela had mentioned something about it,” Merrill said, going back to sweeping.  “She said Varric told her, and I’m guessing you told Varric?”

Hawke leaned back with a groan of irritation.  “Andraste’s ass, is my romantic life the topic of gossip of the entire town, or just my friends?”

“We wouldn’t be your friends if we didn’t gossip about it,” Anders replied, dusting off his knees from where he had knelt to put the box away.

“You’d be better friends if you would _stop_ gossiping.  Or you could take up jobs working as fishwives.  I’ve heard they like to gossip.”

“Oh, no, but I really like working with you, Hawke.  I’d never want to marry a fish—You didn’t mean it,” Merrill said, with a relieved sigh and a slight laugh. 

“I… I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say,” Hawke grumped, thumping the rolled-up bandage in with the rest of them.  “I don’t think I want to talk about this.”

“Wouldn’t you feel better getting it off your chest?” Merrill asked her, leaning on the broom.  Hawke wondered what Hightown would think if they saw their Champion down here in the clinic, straightening up with the rest of her crew.  Would it be something that was just expected?  Or would they be taken aback by their Champion’s actions?

And the fact that she was so easily distracted meant no, she _wouldn’t_ feel better getting it off her chest.  She didn’t want to come anywhere near the topic again.  But Merrill wouldn’t drop it, and Anders was too privy to the information for her to dissemble.

“Fine,” Hawke grumbled.  “We had a bit of a row about whether or not I should be out doing my _bloody_ _job_.  I think I should, he thinks I shouldn’t, and we haven’t… made up yet.  Is all.”

“Oh.  The way Isabela told it, it was much more dramatic,” Merrill said.

“Yes, well, Isabela could make watching paint dry seem more dramatic than it actually is,” Hawke informed her, which earned a snort of laughter from Anders and an amused giggle from the Dalish.  “Now, let’s finish up in here and go eat dinner before I eat one of the two of _you_.”

Merrill and Anders were on their best behavior the rest of the night, probably out of commiseration for Hawke, who had to deal with a cranky and fussy Bethy.  The child was fine until she realized her father wasn’t going to show up, and then it was tears, of course.  It was Anders’s night to stay in the guest room, and Hawke was fairly certain that Fenris wasn’t going to come by, but he showed up soon after Merrill had retired for the night (Hawke not letting her risk a walk back to the alienage in Lowtown on her own, of course) and stayed just long enough to see Bethy, who was quite happy to see her father.

“Mama!” she called to him, holding out the chubby little arms with their grabby hands.

“Why… is she calling me that?” Fenris asked.

“She missed you,” Hawke told him, trying to keep her voice neutral.  _I missed you_ , she didn’t say, trying to keep her eyes off the naked wrist.  Fenris stripped his gauntlets off and removed his breastplate, then held Bethy to his chest and crossed his eyes at her, which set her into a peal of laughter.

“I have been doing things,” he replied, while Bethy grabbed at his hair.

“I didn’t ask,” Hawke said, sitting down on the overstuffed armchair that was closest to the hearth in the library.  Fenris sat on the sofa and balanced Bethy on his lap, helping her to stand up.

“I thought you would be interested in knowing,” he persisted, and Hawke knew he was looking over at her, but she kept her gaze on the fire.

“It’s your business, where you go, what you do.”  _Who you do it with_.

“I… see.”  _No, you don’t_. 

“Are you going to put her to bed?” she asked, rising and looking towards him, but keeping her eyes on Bethy.  “Or are you going to leave soon?”

“I will see to putting her to bed, if you are that tired,” he said, voice carefully neutral. She didn’t hide the wince and curled her hands into fists.  Why were they fighting like this?  Why could she just not _talk_ to him?  Perhaps… No.  No.  He was always the one running from her.  She was tired of chasing him.  If he wanted to talk to her, _he_ could broach the topic.

“Fine,” she muttered, and gathered the skirts of her mage robes around her so that she could stalk from the room more easily.  Her back turned, she thought he was going to say something else, seemed poised to speak, but she kept right on walking, back straight and head held high.  If he wanted to talk to here, he knew where she was.  She would _not_ chase him any longer.

Hawke ascended the steps, climbing the stairs from the library up to her room and gathered up clean underthings and a clean robe and night gown, determined to not let him ruin a perfectly good bath.

It didn’t help ease her any when he was waiting in Bethy’s room in the morning.  It just made things more confusing.

* * *

As promised, Hawke threw Carver the best birthday party she could possibly, given the relative lack of time to make plans coupled with the relative lack of desire to do anything for him that would be too amazing.  He did not, after all, throw a birthday party for _her_ , and she _did_ have other things to do, of course.

It wasn’t a formal party as much as it was a general gathering of her friends, who mainly showed up because she was offering alcohol and food for free, and they didn’t absolutely _hate_ Carver.  The general consensus with her crew was that he was “a bit of a tit,” as Aveline had put it so well before, but otherwise, they were quite willing to celebrate his twenty-third birthday.

_Twenty-three, and five years without Bethany_ , Hawke thought to herself.  Five years ago, she wouldn’t have suspected that she and Carver would be the last of the Hawkes to celebrate his birthday, and six years ago they wouldn’t have suspected he’d ever celebrate one without his twin, but here they were, without Bethany, Leandra, or Malcolm.  Hawke didn’t want to detract from the celebrations, since there was nothing they could do for their missing family members, but she knew that Carver felt the loss keenly, too, when he slipped his arm around her and whispered into her ear that he missed them as well. 

After that, it was back to drinking.  Orana was kind enough to play the lute, which spurred Isabela into the unfortunate idea of giving the birthday boy a “lap dance”, which either made Merrill extremely jealous or titillated, Hawke wasn’t sure which, but neither was she sticking around in her main room to watch such an event, fleeing with Bethy into the library with the excuse that Bethy was too young and Hawke was too _sisterly_ to ever want to see such a thing. 

Fortunately, Fenris apparently wanted to see no such thing, either, and Aveline and Donnic followed on his heels.  Sebastian wasn’t far behind, and Hawke soon realized that the only people watching Carver _get_ his lap dance was Merrill, once Varric wandered in with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bottle of brandy in the other.  Hawke almost felt obligated to go drag Orana into the library, too, but soon the music in the other room stopped and the little elf maid followed, blushing bright red to the tips of her ears and her hairline.

“Um, Master Carver and Messere Isabela—“  she began, and there was a general susurration of soft laughter.

“You don’t have to explain, Orana.  Just hopefully he’ll take it up to his room,” she called out loudly to the main room.

“Noted,” Carver called back.

“Someone let me know when they’ve gone,” Hawke said, resting her arm over her eyes, the other wrapped tightly around Bethy.

It was late enough that everyone started making their goodbyes not too long after that, with Varric braving the main living room to make sure Carver, Isabela and Merrill (surprisingly) had taken the celebrations to his room.  Hawke was fairly certain they’d never be able to use that chair again, but she refused to let anyone burn it to ashes, not wanting to deal with anything else of an incendiary nature that evening.  Hawke assured Varric that Merrill would be just fine staying the night, as well as Isabela, and he took off with the others.  It was Anders’s night to sleep in the clinic, so soon Hawke was left alone with just herself and Bethy, who had yet to go down for the night and stay down, and Fenris, who had yet to make himself scarce, as surprisingly as Merrill.

Hawke tried.  She truly did, she _tried_ , several times, to bring to light the topic of the naked wrist, but each time her tongue caught up her with her brain and the cowardice bloomed like ice in her stomach, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it.  What if he said… and what if… She couldn’t _do it.  She couldn’t._   Hawke knew she deserved to know the answer, knew that she needed to know, but what if Fenris told her and she found out, and then…

“Are you putting Bethy down for the evening?” she asked, instead, cursing herself for her cowardice, her weakness.

“It is how we’ve been doing things, is it not?”

“Just… thought I’d ask,” she said, an unsatisfactory answer for either of them.  She stood there, watching him hold Bethy again, mouth half open poised to speak, but then he looked over at her and she closed that mouth with an audible clicking of her teeth and turned away, as if she were caught staring.

“Did you want something, Marian?” Fenris asked her, moving Bethy from one hip to the other.

“Nothing.  Don’t let Carver bother you tonight.  Hopefully they’ll keep it quiet.”

“Yes,” Fenris said, which was neither an answer nor a response. 

“Goodnight, Fenris,” she said, eyes on the carpet at her feet.

“Goodnight, Marian,” Fenris replied.

She turned to go and was halfway to the staircase when he called out to her again.  “Hawke?”

“Yes, Fenris?”

“I… is there something wrong, Hawke?”

“Nothing,” she answered, lamely.  Her heart pounded in her chest.  “Nothing at all.”

“You’ve… not been acting like yourself, lately.”

“Just lots of things to do,” she replied, fisting her hands in the skirt of her dress.  “You know how it is.  You’ve had plenty to keep you occupied as well.”

“Yes, well,” he said, coughing slightly.  Bethy made a grab for his hair and he removed her hand from the silky, silvery-white strands.  “You would… tell me.  If there were something amiss.”

“Yes,” she said, promising him a lie.  “Goodnight, Fenris.”

“Goodnight,” he said again, moving back with Bethy into the library.

_Why did I lie to him?_ She asked herself, as she got ready for bed.  No baths tonight; she daren’t risk running into a naked trio, or risk running into Fenris again.  She couldn’t speak with him again tonight; the tears threatened to overtake her voice as it was, and if he asked after her again, so concerned, she would swallow her cowardice and probably…

Probably break down crying, making herself look even more the fool than she did.  He wasn’t interested.  He wasn’t wearing the ribbon; he didn’t care about her any longer.  Hawke should move on, leave him alone and stop bothering him.  They shared a daughter, but obviously, that was all Fenris wished to share any longer, and the only reason he bothered to come around anymore.  It wasn’t as if she had even been going on any jobs, even.  There was nothing for him to really object to nor was there anything that called for the two of them to be out together. 

She didn’t cry herself to sleep that night, but only because she didn’t sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always ship Carver, Merrill, and Isabela 'cuz I think they're great together.


	27. Friends Sometimes Push

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke learns that friends sometimes push.

Hawke looked back at her reflection in the mirror, hanging the delicate golden hoop from the holes in her ears.  She turned her head first one way, then the other, admiring how they looked.

The earrings had been a gift from Isabela, to make up for the way they had despoiled Hawke’s living quarters with her revelry with Carver at his birthday.  Hawke didn’t mind; the earrings were lovely and truly, their activities hadn’t been _that_ wild.  Lovely and somewhat tame for Isabela’s tastes; she must have had help picking them out, or else she truly was contrite. 

“What do you think, Bethy?” Hawke asked, standing straight and twirling around in the gown.  On the floor before her, Bethy cooed and clapped her hands, grinning a no-longer gummy smile at her mother.  Hawke grinned and clapped her hands in return.

It was Feastday, the first day of Harvestmere, and Hawke was getting ready to go out to the de Launcets with Bethy.  She had already held a smaller gathering at her home for her friends, one that was noticeable for the fact that the majority of the gifts were pranks rather than anything serious, but just as well-received for that.  Hawke had been invited, formally, along with Bethy, to the de Launcets for their Feastday dinner that evening.  She had been tempted to turn the invitation down, but Isabela had found it while snooping and lectured Hawke for a solid hour about how she needed to stop moping around and get out of the house.

So she had had a gown made up, at greater expense than she wanted to admit, strictly, and had a matching dress for Bethy made up.  Orana had just dropped Bethy off in Hawke’s room, having gotten the child ready, while Hawke was readying herself.  Gown on, hair done, jewelry on, makeup… done, as much as Hawke could do makeup.  Her gown was a lovely shade of green, unfortunate for the season but matching the eyes of an elf that she had held a great deal of fondness for, even if said elf no longer felt that fond towards her. Not done on purpose, but…

“Ready, Bethy?” she asked, bending down to pick the baby up.  Bethy held up her arms and cooed and laughed, then immediately made to grab at the earrings in her mother’s ears.  Hawke had to pull grabby fingers away several times and knew that she would be thankful tonight, especially, that Bethy would wind up getting passed around more than held by she herself, if only to save her ears the trouble.

Orana was waiting by the front door with the little carriage and the leather satchel they had to carry Bethy’s things around in, dressed up quite smartly for a lady’s maid.  She never left the house on her own, and it had taken the promise of a pretty dress and a nice night at the de Launcet’s home before she could coax Orana to accompany her, as was proper.

Her _true_ escort would probably be lurking around somewhere outside, not wanting to be seen by her.  She bristled slightly at that as she lay Bethy down in the little carriage and Orana held the door open.  Fenris had been less than happy when he found out that Hawke would be attending the Feastday celebration there, but when Hawke had remarked, quite pleasantly, considering their most recent conversations, that he was welcome to attend, he spat out that he would not shepherd around a mage and play the bodyguard any longer, his hand going to that naked wrist and causing Hawke to shut herself away for a solid hour to compose herself.  It was as good as a declaration as any that he wanted nothing more to do with her, and she could _not_ figure out what she had done to drive him away as he was.

However, when word got to him that she would attend with Orana only, and they would be going out at night, he had cursed luridly and stated that the two women would be taking his child out by themselves over his dead body.  She knew that Isabela had brought the topic up so that Fenris would at least _talk_ to Hawke, and that maybe they could reconcile, but all it did was seem to make Fenris even angrier than he already was.

Hawke just didn’t know _why_ he was so angry at her, and she still couldn’t ask.  It had been weeks, even weeks since Carver’s party, and she still hadn’t managed to discuss anything with him.  But now she was here, pushing the little carriage with Orana at her side, walking quickly through Hightown to the de Launcet’s estate.  Hawke’s estate was in the older part of Hightown; when the Amells lived there, it was considered the better part, more “old money” than anything else.  Now most of the people she tended to associate with were located in new Hightown; not that it was a very long walk to get there, but even so, Hightown at night could be dangerous for someone who was unarmed, or seemingly unarmed, and two women and a child alone would be seen as easy pickings.  Hawke appreciated Isabela’s meddling, but she didn’t _appreciate_ it.

As suspected, she caught only a few glimpses of her “bodyguard” on the way to the de Launcet’s estate, but she and Orana made it safely there with Bethy, and it seemed as if there were no potential attacks against them that were even foiled.  If there were, Orana’s ears would have picked them up before Hawke’s, and the little elvish woman said nothing, ergo Hawke was sure there was nothing to be said.

Eight o’clock precisely, Orana was knocking on the door to the de Launcet estate, Hawke standing with Bethy in her arms and a smile plastered on her face.  The butler opened the door after an appropriately long amount of time, being fashionably late, of course, and they were ushered in with the usual fuss and fanfare.

Dulci de Launcet gushed over Hawke and Bethy as was usual, making the sort of noises Hawke would expect from an aunt, not that she had ever grown up with one of those.  Dulci’s daughters, Fifi and Babette, were of an age with Hawke and her siblings, and they would have all probably have grown up together in Kirkwall, had her mother married and stayed there instead of running off with her apostate father.  Her life would be quite different if many choices had been made before she was born, Hawke knew, the least of which would have meant the difference between growing up on the run as apostates, in near poverty, and growing up with money and titles.  She would have been a very different person, and wouldn't have Bethy.  Everything she had been through in life was worth it for Bethy’s sake.

The dinner was spare, but considering how late it was, it was assumed that the guests had already eaten.  Dinners this late on Feastday were considered to be something of a last course, and an excuse to get together and drink rather than actually fill one up.  Hawke took the opportunity to speak with others of the nobility that she did not often see or converse with, and that was when Babette cornered her, when Fifi was holding Bethy and making a fuss over her.

“Marian, you must meet my cousin!” Babette said, in faint Orlesian tones.  “He’s single, and a Comte in Orlais!”

“I’m not sure—“

“You _must_ ,” Babette insisted, pulling Hawke by her gown’s sleeve over to where a group of men were standing around.  “Pierre?  Pierre!  This is Marian Hawke.  Marian, this is Pierre de Launcet, my cousin from Orlais!” Hawke found herself being thrust at a rather attractive Orlesian man, out of mask and dressed in a long, black velvet coat.  He _was_ attractive, and she found herself flushing and casting her eyes down as she held out her hand.

Pierre de Launcet took said hand and brushed his lips over the fingers, not touching skin to skin in the usual Orlesian manner. “A pleasure, Messere Hawke.”

“Pleasure,” Hawke murmured, curtseying just slightly, as of one equal to another.  Her title of “Champion” easily put her rungs above a Comte, but the Amells did not have the hereditary rankings otherwise to pull it off.  In fact, in the city, the only more powerful than her, in truth, was Knight-Commander Meredith.  Was Babette truly trying to set her up with a _Comte_?

“Pierre, you _must_ tell Marian about when you got to meet the Empress, may she live forever!” Babette giggled, as Hawke slowly withdrew her hand and looked around desperately for Orana or Bethy.

“I don’t know—“

“The Empress was lovely, but not half as lovely as you yourself, Messere Hawke,” Pierre said, bowing to her just slightly from the waist up.  Hawke blinked at him, owlishly, caught off guard by the compliment.  It wasn’t often that she was called “lovely” by anyone who didn’t want something.  Although to think of it, maybe this Pierre _did_ want something.

Babette grabbed Hawke by an elbow with one hand, and Pierre by the elbow with the other hand, and veritably dragged the two of them off to a corner, forcing them both to take a seat.  “I’ll get you some punch.  Talk!  Sit!” she said, tittering with laughter, and Hawke felt like the last thing she needed was something to drink.  She should find her daughter.  She should find Orana.  She should make her excuses to Dulci and—

“I apologize for my cousin,” Pierre said, covering up a smile with one hand.  “She is impulsive, sometimes.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Hawke said, faintly.

“I happened to mention to her that I wanted a chance to talk with you, and… well…” he shrugged slightly, obviously uncomfortable.

“Talk with me?  Whatever for?”

“I just… thought you were lovely, and found out who you were and… you killed the Arishok?  In single combat?  What was it _like_?”

She started, raising her hand to her chest.  “It was difficult and bloody and painful,” she replied, honestly, put off by the question.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” Pierre said, instantly.  “I did not mean to be rude.  You must get questions like that daily.”

“Not… quite,” she said, truthfully.  Not _daily_ , but often enough, and usually from people less polite than this Comte. They rarely apologized when they saw how put off by the line of questioning she was.

“Then talk to me about something you’re interested in.  Tell me about your daughter.  Is it true you fought Rivaini pirates for her?”  Hawke grinned at that, and made a note in her mind to thank Varric for that particular tale.

“Nothing so grand, I assure you….”  She was deep into their fabricated story about going to Rivain and running across a famous Rivaini seer, who was dying from a robbery gone afoul, when Babette returned and shoved a glass into each of their hands. 

Pierre asked her question after question, seemingly full of nothing but interest in her, and Hawke had to admit that she felt herself being flattered.  It was so rare to have someone who wasn’t Anders chase after her.  She knew she was no great beauty; she had fleshed out some, thanks to the pregnancy and the extra time of living with money and ready good food at hand, but she was never going to be someone who was considered overly attractive.  Her body wasn’t that great, but she fancied that she had a relatively good mind.  It just wasn’t often that she got attention from men who seemed truly interested in _her_ , and not just interested in her money.  A Comte would have his own money, and his own title.  He would probably be a learned man, as this Pierre seemed to be. 

Hawke found that she was enjoying herself immensely, and only when Bethy was deposited in her arms with a soiled nappy did she realize that it was nearly midnight and she truly needed to return home. 

“I beg your pardon, Pierre, but I must get her cleaned up and put to bed.  I completely lost track of time!”

“I’m glad,” he said, standing when she did.  “It gave me the opportunity to have a fascinating talk with a fascinating woman.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to see you home.”  Bethy squirmed in Hawke’s arms, whimpering and sniffling.

“I couldn’t possibly ask that of you,” Hawke hedged, looking around for Orana.

“Please, I insist.  It is no trouble for me.”

“If you really wish it, it’s a scant fifteen-minute walk or so.  Although I would fear for your safety, coming back.”

“Do not fear for me, dear woman,” Pierre said, and Hawke held back her smile.  Obviously not a man who had ever been caught out by himself in Hightown, and, obviously, a man who didn’t care about all the potential harm to himself, but just wanted to escort her home.  How long had it been since she was escorted home by a man not for safety, but because she wished it?  Had that ever been something she had done?  Or had it been since Lothering?

“Well, then I welcome your escort, Comte de Launcet.”

“Pierre.  Please, call me Pierre.”

“Then you must call me Marian,” she told him.  “If we’re to be friends, we should be on a first name basis, do you not think?”

“I think,” he agreed.

The walk took closer to a half an hour than it did the estimated fifteen minutes, in large part because Hawke wound up having to wait just outside the courtyard of the de Launcet place and say goodbye again and again to members of the party who had no actual interest in her but a great deal of interest in the fact that Pierre de Launcet was escorting her and her maid home.  There were also those who had not gotten a good look at Bethy inside but who were dying for a glance at the “adopted” heir of the Hawke family, young though she was.

However, eventually they made it to just outside the Hawke estate.  Orana made polite excuses about seeing to Bethy’s nappy while Hawke stood awkwardly outside, fidgeting with the sleeves of her gown and trying to not smile overly much at the handsome young man who was smiling at her, although he didn’t seem to be holding his smiles back as much as she was trying to.

“It was a lovely evening, Pierre, truly.  Give Dulci my thanks again, if you would.”

“I would like to see you again, Marian,” he said, leaning forward slightly.  His eyes darted down to her lips and he licked his own quickly before bringing his gaze back to her eyes.  “You are a remarkable woman.  I am surprised, honestly, that no one has a claim on your affections.”

“I…”

“They don’t, do they?”  She felt the color rushing to her cheeks hotly. 

“No one, at present,” she said, voice hushed.

“Then let me see you again.  The day after tomorrow?”  He rambled off the name of one of the nicer places to dine in Kirkwall, and gave an early afternoon time, while Hawke bit her tongue.  Was this a mistake?  She barely knew this man.  But it was just a lunch.

“Yes,” she said, somewhat breathlessly.  “I’ll… see you then, Pierre.”  She smiled up at him with tight lips, and was somewhat shocked when he leaned forward and slanted his mouth over hers quickly, just the barest brushing of their lips together.

A rough cough startled her, and she darted quickly away from him to glance towards where the door was opened.  She hadn’t even realized that – oh.  Fenris.

“I… have to go, Pierre.  I will see you.  The day after tomorrow?  At two?” she darted inside, pushing past Fenris, her skirts fisted in her hands to give her feet more room to move.

Hawke did not catch what Pierre said in response, but she caught the icy coldness of the room, and heard the door slam loudly behind her.  She was already turning with a scowl on her face when Fenris grabbed her by the upper arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, eyes searching her face, brows drawn down.

“I was coming home from a Feastday party,” she said, jerking her arm out of his grasp.

“Do you even know what time it is?  Who was that man? Does he know you’re an apostate?”

“His name,” she said, taking a deep breath.  “Is Comte Pierre de Launcet, and he’s Fifi and Babette’s cousin from Orlais.  Yes, he knows I’m an apostate.”  Faint footsteps behind her told her that they weren’t the only ones still awake at that hour.  She half turned and caught sight of the slight form of Orana, holding a fussy Bethy.  “Now if you will excuse me, Fenris, I must put my daughter to bed.”

“ _Our_ daughter, Hawke.  She is yours and _mine_.”

“And _you_ know that isn’t common knowledge,” Hawke told him, wearily.

“Do you think for a minute I’m going to let some strange man muscle his way in and father my child?”  She blinked owlishly at him, somewhat startled by the vehemence in his voice.

“That wasn’t my intention,” she began, weakly.  “Fenris…” she laid her hand out on his arm.  “I don’t know what’s going on, Fenris.”

“Do you even care?”  Fenris jerked away from her and ran his fingers through his hair.  “You smell like Orlesians.  I will see to Bethy.”  His tone had moderated slightly.  “Go… clean yourself up.  Perhaps we can talk later.”  After they had both cooled down, was the implication.

Hawke had stripped herself of the gown and had washed up, mainly getting the makeup off her face and her hair down and out of the pins, when Orana came in and told her that Bethy was asleep and Fenris had gone back to his mansion.  She felt her heart sink a little bit, then.  If Fenris had truly wanted to talk to her about what was going on, perhaps there was a chance that things could be salvaged between them.  But running off… Perhaps there was no chance, after all.

“Thank you for letting me know, Orana,” she said, the exhaustion heavy in her voice.

“Mistress… do not be angry with Messere Fenris, I beg you,” Orana said, from the doorway.  “He… You are a young and beautiful woman, and he sometimes forgets that there are others who might be interested, I think.”

“Why should he care, anyway?” Hawke gruffed, sinking down into the chair at her desk.  “He hasn’t shown his interest in me in a while now.  I think he’s lost interest, Orana, or haven’t you noticed?”

“It isn’t my place to say.  But please be kind to him.”

“I will be as kind as I am able,” she promised.  “Now get to bed, or else both of us will be too exhausted in the morning to be of use to anyone.”

* * *

 

Hawke crossed her eyes and leveled the spoon at Bethy’s mouth.  For her part, Bethy gasped a laugh and reached for said spoon, barely missing it. 

They had yet to actually get any of the mashed-up gruel into Bethy’s mouth, but Hawke was holding out hope that it would actually happen.  It was the day after Feastday and, while she wasn’t exactly hungover, she certainly felt a little less than her usual chipper self; but, she had promised herself that she would try to start Bethy on solid foods today and she was making a good go at it.

Orana sat in a chair on the other side of Bethy, all bright smiles and watching intently while holding the bowl of gruel.  Bethy sat in a specially-made chair between the two of them that was considered all the rage in Nevarra and Orlais and so, of course, had been something Hawke absolutely had to have for Bethy.  It sort of strapped the child in the seat, with a harness, and there was a sort of removable wooden tray for food.  It was also the perfect height for what they were attempting.

She only wished that Fenris was there to see this, but he hadn’t shown back up after leaving without speaking with her again the night before (or, to be more honest, early that morning) and Hawke had not been of a mind to go looking for him to drag him back into her company.  If the man didn’t wish to be around her, she wouldn’t be the person to try to force him into it.  But still, she wished; he had been there for the other milestones, and he had a right.  Especially given the vehemence he spoke with of being Bethy’s father the night before.

That would prove to be… problematic… if she were to seek anything out with this Pierre.  He was a nice enough fellow, from the little she knew of him, but she wasn’t going to deny Fenris his right to see Bethy.  It would all be so much easier if she weren’t a mage; then having a child, even one out of wedlock with someone as problematic as Fenris _himself_ , wouldn’t have been an issue.  Hawke stuck out her tongue slightly as she tried to maneuver the spoon with gruel in a better way so that Bethy would actually open her mouth and Hawke could insert food there, but the child was too fascinated with the spoon as a toy to cooperate, and Hawke groaned with frustration and flung the thing down onto the wooden tray.

Bethy quickly picked the spoon up and waved it in the air, getting gruel all over her hand, the tray, and Hawke, who was lucky enough to be in the trajectory path when it flew off the thing.  She sighed and leaned back in her chair, pressing the palm of her hand against her eyes.

“Mistress?” Orana asked, voice tinged with concern.

“I’m just tired, Orana,” Hawke hedged.  “And this is frustrating.”  She put on a blisteringly fake smile and removed her hand, plucking the spoon back out of Bethy’s grasping fingers and getting more gruel on it from the bowl Orana held out.

“Perhaps Bethy can tell you’re frustrated, and it’s making her less likely to want to cooperate?”

Hawke’s smile turned more genuine, then.  “Perhaps you’re right.”  A loud knocking sounded at the front door, and she and Orana both turned instinctively towards the direction of the sound.  “Who could…”

Aveline marched in, in full guard regalia, frowning sharply.  “Hawke.  You have to do something about Fenris.”

Hawke’s eyes widened; this must be serious, for Aveline usually at least _greeted_ her before she started ordering her around.  “I’m hardly his keeper, Aveline.”

“Hawke.  Dressed.  Doubletime.”

“Now listen, Aveline, I was in the middle of feeding Bethy,” Hawke said, assuming a muleish, stubborn quality.  Aveline spared a look at Orana and Bethy, strapped into the chair, and shrugged slightly.

“Orana can handle it.  Get dressed, Hawke.  We need to move.”

“I can handle it, Mistress,” Orana said, voice quiet, as it always was around Aveline.  Aveline intimidated everyone.

“Fine,” she grumbled, handing the spoon over to Orana.  “Maybe you should just try giving her the goat’s milk instead?”

“As you say, Mistress,” Orana said, affecting a courtesy from where she was seated.  Hawke glared at Aveline and grabbed the other woman by the elbow, dragging her along in her wake.

“Now, what’s wrong with Fenris?”  Aveline pulled her arm away and shook it out slightly.

“I don’t know, but we’ve already had a number of complaints from his neighbors about the sound coming from his mansion.”

“Maker’s breath, and you couldn’t go check it out on your own?”

“I can’t handle him when he gets like this,” Aveline said, with a shrug.  “I don’t think anyone can but you.”

“Well, good luck on getting me to handle it after last night,” Hawke breathed to herself, but she made it up to her room and readied her second-best robe and grabbed the staff she generally preferred, the one with the pretty blue and purple crystals, before accompanying Aveline out and into the harsh midday of Kirkwall’s autumn.

Arriving at Fenris’s mansion, Hawke had to admit to herself that she understood about the complaints.  There was loud thudding, and every now and then the sound of bottles being shattered.  She suppressed a sigh and knocked, quite loudly, on the door, loudly enough that she hoped he would be able to hear her over the noise.

When he didn’t answer the door, she tried the handle and was surprised to find that it was unlocked.  That wasn’t like Fenris; he locked the door simply to make it that much harder for any potential bounty hunters to find him.  She shared a suspicious glance with Aveline and the other woman pulled up her shield and readied her sword, while Hawke hung back, calling on her mana and readying one of her force magic spells.

What neither of them expected but both of them found was an extremely very drunk Fenris leaned against the staircase and glaring at them through obviously bloodshot and blurry eyes.  With another shared look, this one of surprise more than suspicion, Hawke calmed her mana and Aveline put away her sword.

“Fenris,” Aveline said, with a short nod.

“Fenris, what’s wrong?” Hawke asked.

“Go.  Away.”  Fenris said, slumping down onto the floor.  A bottle clattered from his hand and onto the tile floor with a clink of glass.

“Fenris, there have been some complaints,” Aveline said.

“Are you well?” Hawke added.

“I’m perfectly content.  Go away.”

“You can’t just stay in here and drink yourself to death, Fenris,” Hawke tried, gently.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Fenris tilted his head back against the stairwell and closed his eyes.  “I’ll be quieter.  But I don’t want company now, so go away.”

“I was hoping you’d come by and see Bethy,” Hawke said, and Fenris huffed a laugh that was bitter even to her ears.

“Go away, Hawke,” he said, pulling himself up with the railing and making his way unsteadily up the stairs.  “I’ll be quieter, Aveline,” he said, and Hawke gave Aveline a dry look.

“Well?” she asked the Guard-Captain. 

“What happened?” Aveline asked, shaking her head and running gauntleted fingers through her hair.

“Nothing.  Well…”

“Well?  Hawke,” Aveline said, flatly.  Upstairs, Fenris banged the door to the one room he customarily used closed harshly.

“I got introduced to the de Launcet’s cousin last night, and he walked me home.  He kissed me,” she said, blushing fiercely at the memory, but not unpleasantly.  “And Fenris… might have seen it.”  She shrugged and started making her way back out of his mansion.  “Really, the way he’s been acting, he’s probably celebrating.”

“What do you mean, ‘the way he’s been acting’?  The man’s obviously miserable.”

“He doesn’t seem miserable to me,” she muttered. 

“That man is miserable,” Aveline pushed, frowning.  She closed the door firmly behind her and gently nudged Hawke back out into the crisp sunlight.  “Why would you kiss this de Launcet boy if you had Fenris waiting on you at home?”

“It wasn’t planned.  And… I’m pretty sure Fenris decided he’s through with me, Aveline.”

“Oh, this I _have_ to hear,” Aveline said, rolling her eyes and smartly returning the salute from one of the guardsmen who were walking by on patrol.

“He’s… he quit wearing the ribbon,” Hawke said, and was struck by how stupid it sounded to her own ears as she said it.

“So he quit wearing that grungy ribbon, and that means he doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Hawke muttered, flexing her fingers on her staff as she marched, straight-backed, to her own estate.  Aveline easily kept pace beside her.

“You’re right, I don’t understand.  But maybe you should try talking to him first,” she urged Hawke.  “You’d probably be surprised at what you find out.”

“I’ll think on it,” Hawke told her, but made no real promises.  Aveline accepted her words with a grunt and left Hawke at her estate, leaving her to wonder if it was truly necessary for Aveline to have dragged her to Fenris’s in the first place.

Before she had properly changed out of her robe, Orana was peaking her head into Hawke’s room and announcing that she had a visitor.  “Messere Varric is here to see you, Mistress.”

Hawke grumbled to herself and started tying up the robe again, certain that Varric would want her to come out for something or another but it seems all her favorite dwarf wanted to do was talk.  Talk about Fenris, and why he was holed up in his mansion drinking himself to death, and why Aveline had come barreling into the Hanged Man demanding Varric come talk to Hawke and “settle things down,” but just talk all the same.

“Really, Varric, I don’t know what’s gotten into Fenris, but I’m hardly his keeper.  He’s a grown man and if he wants to… be by himself, and drink, and break his furniture, I’m sure that’s all up to him.”

“Hawke,” Varric said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.  They were situated in Hawke’s library, with Bethy on the floor, practicing her crawling, and Varric in one of the overstuffed chairs while Hawke was seated on the low sofa, as was her wont.  “You know better than that.  Whatever’s wrong with the elf, maybe you should just talk to him?”

“He made it obvious that he didn’t want to talk to me when he left last night, Varric.  And really, as I said, I am _not_ his keeper!”

“Aveline said something about a ribbon?” Varric pressed.

Hawke leaned back and folded her hands together in her lap.  Looking at a point above Varric’s head, she swallowed roughly and tried to maintain an even tone in her voice.  “Like I told Aveline, I don’t know why, but Fenris doesn’t seem to be interested in me any longer, and I am not going to push my attentions on a man who isn’t interested.”

“You’re so full of shit, Hawke,” Varric said, leaning back himself and drawing Hawke’s eyes to him.  Her mouth hung open slightly in startlement, and it took a moment of Bethy tugging on her robe before Hawke dragged her eyes away from Varric to her daughter.  Bethy was standing there, Chauncey in one hand and a fistful of robes in another, grinning her now toothy grin, a massive amount of drool collected on her chin.

“I am not, Varric,” she managed to say, shaking her head and lifting Bethy up onto her lap. 

“You can’t tell me that you two danced around each other for years, slept together, have a kid together, and just suddenly he’s not interested and you’re okay with that?”

“For your information,” Hawke said, primly, “I have a… a date.   Tomorrow afternoon, with Pierre de Launcet.”

“De Launcet?  Guillaume de Launcet’s nephew?” Varric’s grin was too wide and too bright, and Hawke narrowed her eyes at him.

“Yes.  The very same.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Language, Varric,” Hawke hissed, nodding towards Bethy, who was busy chewing on Chauncey’s ear and blinking her bright blue eyes up at her mother.  “But no, I am not.  I have lunch plans with him, in fact.”

“Hawke, you’re a brilliant woman, but sometimes you do stupid things.”

“How in the world is this stupid?” she asked incredulously.

“That elf would move mountains for you, and you’re going to have lunch with Pierre de Launcet?”

“It’s just lunch, Varric.  It’s not like I’m getting engaged to him or anything.”

“Probably seems like it as far as Fenris is concerned.”

“You aren’t my father,” she pointed out to Varric.  “And neither is he.  Neither of you have any say over who I see, and I seem to not be a wedded woman.  If I wish to have lunch with someone, there’s no reason I can’t.”

“No reason the seemingly single, beautiful, _eligible_ Champion of Kirkwall can’t have lunch with a good looking, _eligible_ bachelor like Pierre de Launcet, you mean?”

“Well... I wouldn’t put it in those exact terms,” she mumbled.  Bethy started squirming in her lap and so Hawke gently helped her back down onto the floor, where she immediately dropped Chauncey and started crawling towards Varric and three wooden blocks that had somehow ended up at his feet.

Varric laughed and laced his fingers together over his chest.  “Hawke... Andraste’s ass.  I’d suggest you go to the elf and tell him there’s nothing between you and this Pierre, and then go to this Pierre and tell him there’s something between you and the elf.”

“But there _isn’t_ anything between me and Fenris and that’s how Fenris seems to want it!”  Varric shook his head.

“Be reasonable, Hawke—“

“I _am_ being reasonable, Varric.  Just… I’m not laying my private life out for everyone and their brother to peruse over, but trust me when I say I was given some very strong signals by Fenris that he wasn’t interested anymore.  Please.”  By the time she was done talking, the tears in her eyes were threatening to spill onto her cheeks, and the tears in her voice were evident.  Varric’s eyes widened and it took several pulls at his jacket by little Bethy before he sat up straight and picked the child up, bouncing her on his knee slightly.

“Alright, Hawke.  I’ll drop it.  But I still think you should talk to him.”

“If he wants to talk to me, I’ll talk, Varric, but… there’s nothing to talk about.”

“If you say so.”  He pressed a kiss to Bethy’s head and stood up.  Hawke followed suit, blinking several times to clear the treacherous tears from her eyes. It wouldn’t do any good to cry.

* * *

 

Hawke was strongly determined to make her lunch date with Pierre de Launcet the following day and refused to let the guilt that Varric seemed determined to make her feel bother her in any way.  She bundled herself and Bethy in lovely, coordinating dresses that were perfect for the slightly cooler weather that Kingsway had brought with it and arrived at the restaurant right on time to find Pierre de Launcet already there and waiting for the two of them at a small, private table.

He stood when she approached and offered her a brilliantly winning smile, helping to get the little carriage situated appropriately and then pulling out Hawke’s chair for her.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Marian,” he said, earnestly, after she had seated herself.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Pierre,” she told him.  In the little carriage, Bethy sat up and looked around, eyes wide with curiosity.

It had been a gamble, bringing her child with her, but Hawke decided on being as honest as she possibly could.  If she were going to pursue any sort of… relationship… with Pierre, he had to know that Bethy was her number one priority, and that she wasn’t going to set her daughter aside no matter what.  And if that were too much for the Orlesian, it was best to know early on, so that neither of them wasted their time.

“I trust your bodyguard was not too wroth with you, for coming home so late?” Pierre asked, and then took a sip from his wineglass.

“Fenris isn’t… my bodyguard.  He’s part of the crew I work with, however.”

“I… see.”  Obviously, he did not.  “Still, he seemed upset.”

“We have had some differences of opinion lately, in regard to how things have been working.  He wanted to discuss those differences with me.”

“So late on Feastday?”  Pierre arched a well-manicured brow at her and she shifted uncomfortably and took a drink from her own wineglass.

“Unfortunately, the work of a Champion is never done,” she hedged, after setting the glass back down, and she offered Pierre a smile.  In the carriage, Bethy babbled to herself and gnawed on Chauncey’s ear with her two new teeth, and Hawke turned that smile onto her daughter.

“So it would seem,” Pierre replied, bringing his gaze to Bethy as well.  “Your daughter is lovely, and she favors you greatly.”

“She is adopted.  Rivaini.  I knew I needed an heir, and there was no guarantee… Well.  Things were complicated, and I was in Rivain.  The opportunity presented itself and I saw the logic.”  And…they had already talked about this.  Of _course_.  She felt foolish.  There was no way this man was going to have any interest in her.  She felt ridiculous.  She felt like her jaw was going to shatter from the brittleness of her smiling.  She did not like having to hedge all this much.  It was so much easier with Fenris; there was no hedging or lying of any sort.  Bethy was _his_ daughter.  But Hawke _liked_ Pierre.

“It was kind of you to offer her a home and a family, then,” Pierre said, nodding to himself.

“Well, you know me,” Hawke said, her smile threatening to turn into a foolish grin out of nervousness.

“Not as well as I would like to,” Pierre told her, reaching his hand out and grasping hers.  “I find I like you very much, Marian, and I would like to get to know you better.  Perhaps… we can see each other again.  If you would like.”

“Oh, yes.  Well.  I think I’d like that very much,” she told him, giving his hand a squeeze before removing hers and drinking from her wineglass again.  “Excellent wine,” she said, trying to hide her nervousness.

Despite her nervousness, and Bethy’s growing boredom, the lunch went rather well.  It was nice to have a meal with someone who didn’t know all her friends, hadn’t heard all her stories (or worse, been present for most of them) and who seemed to enjoy her company.  If it were not for the fact that Bethany got tired of being at the restaurant, Hawke probably would have sought to extend the lunch further.  As it was, when she left, and after receiving a polite kiss on her hand from Pierre, she realized, by the position of the sun, that they had spent close to two hours there.  It was an amazingly relaxing two hours, however, and she couldn’t help the smile that stayed on her lips as she pushed the little carriage home, promising Bethy that she would get plenty of time to play once they got back there.

Unfortunately, getting back home meant that Aveline and Varric were waiting for her in the foyer, both of them seemingly stressed out and upset, and Hawke sighed as she lifted Bethy from the carriage and carried her in there, her smile going from genuine to affected.

“What did I miss?”

“Broody—“

“Bandits—“

She sighed again and bounced Bethy just slightly; for her part, Bethy seemed irritated and wanted to get down as soon as possible, and so Hawke left her two friends in her wake and carried Bethy into the library, sitting her down on the floor near a little stack of blocks and a wooden horse on wheels.

“One at a time,” she said, standing back up and turning to the two of them.  Aveline and Varric shared a look, and Varric went first.

“Hawke, you’ve got to go talk to Broody.  I was just there, and he’s in awful shape.”

“Well, perhaps he shouldn’t be celebrating me going to lunch with Pierre de Launcet, then,” Hawke sniped, and Varric winced.

“He’s _not_ celebrating, I tell you…”

“Varric,” Hawke said, pinching the bridge of her nose.  “Trust me, nothing I say to Fenris is going to get him to stop drinking until he’s ready.”

“Perhaps you could ask him to come out with us hunting bandits tomorrow, then,” Aveline put in.

“You think he’d actually want to go with _me_?  Hunting bandits?” Hawke barked a bitter laugh.  “Half of what we argue over is the fact that he doesn’t seem to want me to go out and do my job anywhere.”

“I’ve just got a report in of some bandit activity down on the Wounded Coast,” Aveline said, matter-of-fact.  “We could be gone for two days.  If you bring him, it will give him something to do and maybe give you a chance to prove you’re stronger than he’s giving you credit for.”

Hawke stood there, blinking and staring at her friend.  “You know… that’s actually kind of brilliant, Aveline.” 

Aveline smirked.  “I have ideas every now and then.  Now you: get to Fenris’s and tell him to shape up and be ready to leave out for a couple of days, starting in the morning.”  She turned to Varric.  “I trust this is the result you’re wanting?”

Varric shrugged.  “If it gets him out of his mansion and stops him from drinking, it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

“Amen to that,” Aveline said.  “We’re still getting complaints.”

“I’ll get Orana to watch Bethy, and then the two of you can come with me.  I’m guessing you’ve got Merrill lined up to come, as well?”

“I haven’t got anyone else, to be honest,” Aveline said. 

“Well, we’ll see if we can’t get Merrill and ‘Bela to come with us.  I think we should leave Anders here, though, or else he and Fenris will just argue the entire time and I don’t think I can handle that,” Hawke said, shaking her head. 

Before a quarter hour was out, Orana was in the library with Sandal and Hero, all of them playing with Bethy, who was overjoyed to be able to get out and wiggle around to her heart’s content, and Hawke was strapping her staff onto her back and leading Aveline and Varric out of her estate and to Fenris’s mansion.

“I don’t know why you all keep coming to me about Fenris,” she was muttering under her breath as they approached his mansion.  “I’m not his keeper.”

“But you _are_ his girlfriend,” Varric said, and Aveline shifted her sword and shield on her back in agreement.

“No, I’m not,” Hawke complained.  “He… You just don’t understand.  But I’m not his girlfriend.”

“You’re the only one he listens to, Hawke,” Aveline told her in crisp tones.  “You’re the only one of us he really seems to like.”

“Maybe that was true a month ago, but now…”

“Stop whining,” Aveline said, rolling her eyes.  “Just do the job, Hawke.”

“Fine,” Hawke muttered, and stopped in front of Fenris’s door to knock on it very loudly, ensuring that he should be able to hear even if he were upstairs.

Minutes passed, and they stood there in an increasingly awkward silence until Aveline sighed and tried to open the door.  As before, it was unlocked, and she lead the way in, head moving from side to side in an unconscious scanning of the perimeter for threats.  Hawke followed, and Varric followed her.

“Fenris!” Aveline called out, loudly.  It was eerily silent, and Hawke suddenly felt uncomfortable.  What if slavers had come and taken him?  She started to open her mouth and speak to Varric when the dwarf held up his hands.

“He was here earlier,” he assured her, and Hawke swallowed hard and licked her lips.  _Here_ _earlier_ did not mean _here_ _now_.

“Fenris,” she called out, after a moment.  “It’s Hawke, are you here?”  Hawke started up the stairs, noting that the bannister on the stairwell had not yet collected its share of dust; Fenris must have been in and out recently, and it backed up what Varric said about Fenris still being there.  She felt herself relax slightly in relief.  “Fenris!” she called out again, mounting the steps.  “Are you here?”  Something thudded in the room he usually used, and she felt her mana gather without conscious thought; if Fenris were there and injured, he would need Healing, and if there were someone else lying in wait, they would have a nasty surprise in store.

Taking the lead, she knocked heavily on the shut door and called for him again, then opened it.  Stale air assaulted her, and she wrinkled her nose and looked around.

Fenris was horribly drunk.  He was nearly passed out in the large, broken-down chair that he kept for reading, close to his fireplace, one leg draped over the arm and head tilted to the side.  He opened one eye and looked at her, then closed it and slurred, “G’way.  ‘M’fine.”

“This will not do, Fenris,” she chided sternly, putting her hands on her hips.  Aveline and Varric hung back, whispering to each other, but Hawke could not catch what they were saying.  “Fenris, I have a job and I need you.”

He opened both eyes this time and sat up in his chair a little straighter.  “A job?”  He licked his lips and cleared his throat, shifting and dislodging a wine bottle.

“Yes, a job.  I need you on the Coast.  We’ll be gone for two days and I need you able to fight.”  She wrinkled her nose again and scowled at him fiercely.  “And bathed, Fenris.”

“Who’s watching Bethy?” he slurred, rubbing the heel of his hand against his eyes and obviously trying to clear his head quickly.

“Orana and Bodahn will handle her just fine, but I’ll get Sebastian to stay there, if I have to.  You can’t… You can’t do _this_ , Fenris,” she said, gesturing to him and somehow managing to take in all of the room, which was in more than its usual disarray.

“I’m fine, Hawke,” he told her, running bare hands through his hair.

“No, you aren’t.  If you’re not going to talk to me and explain what’s wrong, and you’re not going to talk to anyone else, the least you can do is respect yourself enough to not spend two whole _days_ being drunk, Fenris.”

“I wasn’t drunk the entire time,” he mumbled, giving Hawke a withering look.  She folded her arms under her breasts and tapped her foot, arching a brow at him, and he dropped his gaze quickly.

“Are you going to be ready or am I going to have to hire a mercenary?”

“I’ll… be ready,” he muttered, resting his face in his hands.  “I’ll be ready.  Stop by in the morning and I will be ready when you have need of me.”

“Good,” she replied, archly.  “I’ll see you in the morning, ‘round eight bells.”  He nodded, and said nothing further, so Hawke turned on her heel sharply and Varric and Aveline followed her out, sharing a smug look between them.

Once they were back downstairs and closing the door to Fenris’s mansion behind them, Hawke whirled on the two of them.  “There’s no reason you couldn’t have done that, either of you.”

“The elf only listens to you, Hawke,” Varric said.

“You have the best way with him,” Aveline agreed, and Hawke shrugged uncomfortably and scowled.

“Regardless.  Either of you could have done that.  I’m _not_ his keeper!”

“So you keep saying,” Varric replied, amused, and Hawke shot him a dark look. 

“Now, if neither of you have need of me further, I have a trip to plan for tomorrow.  Varric, could you ask Merrill and ‘Bela if they’ll be up for coming?  And send a runner to let me know if they are.”

“How about I stop by myself?  For dinner, maybe?”  This broke through Hawke’s dark mood somewhat and she smiled at him suddenly.

“I suppose I can deal with that,” she said, and patted him on the shoulder.  “It’s always a good time with my trusty dwarf.”

“It’s always fun with you around, Hawke.”

* * *

 

It was easier, leaving Bethy, this time.  Easier because she knew it was a short trip to the Wounded Coast, and that it was a routine run to go take care of some bandits for and with Aveline.  Aveline was a handful of years older than Hawke, but just old enough to seem like a young-ish aunt, like the much younger sister of her mother.  Nothing could go wrong with Aveline around, for Aveline was good and level-headed and strong, and would be damned if anything _did_ go wrong. 

She wore her new set of robes, which really was more like a long coat that went over a tunic and pants.  It was warmer, and made it easier for Hawke to move around suddenly, like she would need to do in combat.  The robes themselves were, of course, enchanted, and she carried along with her, her favorite staff, the one with the pretty blue and purple crystals that had an affinity for cold.  Each of them had their own pack, with a bedroll and a few healing potions or lyrium potions, in the case of the two mages, and Hawke was pleased that Fenris was ready to go when she stopped by, down to having his own pack with, presumably, his own bedroll in it, strapped to his back with his huge greatsword.

It was a beautiful day, although firmly into autumn, which meant that there was a cool, crisp breeze.  Hawke was doubly glad that she chose this particular outfit to wear, since she had chosen to not wear an extra coat or cloak; it was _just_ chilly enough to want a little protection while they hiked.

She did not truly expect that Fenris would change his mind, once he saw how well she was able to handle herself, but she hoped that, perhaps, there would be less in the way of arguing from now on when she wanted to take on jobs.  Not that she thought he had a point, and not that she was willing to give any on the subject, but she didn’t want to tell Fenris he couldn’t come around anymore, or that he couldn’t see Bethy because he refused to stop harping on whether or not she was capable of handling herself in a fight.  The fool man had _been there_ in the Vinmarks; she had handled herself fine, albeit with some unlucky injuries, and they were unlikely to encounter anything so challenging and harrowing this close to Kirkwall.  Besides, she was Champion; she had a job to do, and Fenris was trying to prevent her from doing it.  If he refused to escort her to the interminable dances and galas and functions, he could at least not complain when she wanted to do what she was being “paid” to do.

Between the nice weather and the (mostly) pleasant company, Hawke was happy with how things were turning out.  Of course, they weren’t far towards the Coast itself before they had to take on a handful of bandits who thought they would be easy pickings, but that was quite the reason they were out there, after all, and Hawke was happy enough to oblige any bandit death wishes that she happened across.

It had been a while since they had had any reason to head up this way, and each of the crew were engaged in the various jobs they tended to have when they went out.  The two rogues kept eyes out for any new traps and disarmed them when needed, which was increasingly frequent the further away from Kirkwall proper and civilization the group got.  Merrill kept her eyes open for any reagents, especially elfroot and embrium, as those two were the most valuable for their crew; Hawke was fairly good at making her own health potions, and the stronger ones were always used with fresh elfroot and embrium instead of the common dried stuff they were able to procure in the city.  Usually any trip out with Merrill and Hawke on nice enough days involved everyone keeping their eyes out for the two plants, anyway.  Aveline and Fenris trailed behind, Fenris following behind even Aveline.  He was hungover, from his two-day bender, but still in good fighting condition, and he seemed happier with the rear guard than he would if he were forced to walk ahead and make conversation with anyone.  Or, as happy as Fenris ever seemed to be.

It was a good two hours before the sun was due to set when Hawke called a halt to their walking.  They had been set upon three times, and had set upon two different groups of bandits, and everyone was starting to feel a bit hungry.  They were also, admittedly, in a very good location, being near a good-sized freshwater stream that was deep enough to wade in and situated near a trio of small caves that would provide adequate shelter.  They had camped there, before, and it was a good place for them to settle for the night, even if it was not, strictly speaking, night yet.

Hawke dropped her pack on the ground with a relieved sigh, flopping down onto the sparsely grassed, mostly sand it was resting atop and stretching her legs out, wiggling her toes in her boots.  The boots would have to come off, and soon; Fenris was right about one thing: she wasn’t used to all this, and even with their trip to the Vinmarks, she had gotten out of habit.  She was still in better shape than she was so soon after giving birth to Bethy, but she would have to do a lot more exercising and walking before she truly got back into the shape she had been _before_ giving birth. 

“Out of breath there, Hawke?” Aveline asked, dropping her pack down beside where Hawke’s lay.

“It’s all that easy nobility living,” Hawke assured her.  “I’ll be back to myself in no time, if we keep doing things like this.”

“You’ve done well today,” Aveline said, taking off her shield and sword and resting them beside her pack much more gently than she had set the pack down.  “I don’t see why Fenris is so against you doing this.”

“Because she should be at home with our child, not out killing bandits,” Fenris said, as he walked by them.  Hawke shared a look with Aveline and then rolled her eyes, sitting up and leaning back on her elbows.

“No one’s in need of more Healing, are they?” she called out, to the group in general.  Isabela was in one cave, and Varric was in another, while Merrill was brushing out the area they customarily made their fire in.  There was a general chorus of “no, Hawke,” and she tilted her head back, catching the rays of the sun on her closed eyelids and enjoying the warmth of the light while a cool breeze blew over her.  It truly was a pretty day, and she trusted her friends to tell her if they needed anything more than they had gotten, Healing-wise, which meant she got to enjoy a few minutes of peace before they all started divvying up the chores to get the camp area ready for sleeping. 

And that seemed to be where her peace ended, too.  Somehow, despite the fact that Hawke was generally the one in charge of such outings, she got paired up with Fenris for _everything_. 

At one point, Hawke was certain the others were doing it to her on purpose.  After all, it wasn’t often that Aveline and Varric got together to make the dinner, or Isabela and Merrill got together to do anything that didn’t involve body shots and dirty jokes.  However, Hawke and Fenris were first tasked with finding appropriate firewood, and then tasked with finishing up dinner.  They were even tasked with first watch together, which was nearly unheard of because very few times had the two of them been put on watch together. 

Every time Hawke made an objection, someone else countered the objection until she felt like she was objecting just to be difficult.  The looks she was getting, as well as the attitude of amusement from everyone excepting Fenris, was frustrating to the point of distraction.  To her relief, Fenris seemed to not be in on it, nor did he seem to be any more amused by the situation than she was, but that did not help.  Indeed, it made things more difficult, as the two of them barely passed a dozen words, and most of those were tinged, on her part, with irritation, and seemed to be, from him, either tinged with irritation or accompanied by looks which Merrill had appropriately dubbed “sad puppy eyes” before.

And it started to make Hawke feel guilty.

Which made her even more frustrated, and set her in a fine fettle for the next day.  Because they all awoke with first light, which wasn’t, strictly speaking, something they tended to do when not camping, but something they were all somewhat accustomed to doing as from before, they had time to do a little bit more bandit hunting before they set back out for Kirkwall.

It was mid-morning, and proving to be a day as lovely as its predecessor, when they ran across a group of bandits that was larger than the ones they had previously been dealing with.  Larger, better-armed, and one that got the drop on them in the way of traps which Isabela and Varric failed to notice. 

Hawke cursed as she rushed to Aveline’s side, kneeling down as the warrior pulled the spring trap apart with her prodigious strength.  Hawke laid hands on the gaping wounds on the affected leg, where the thing had managed to punch through even the Silverite of Aveline’s armor, calling forth her mana before the fight had really even begun well and determined to Heal Aveline fully.  Aveline’s face was contorted in a grimace of pain, but within a scant moment of Hawke laying hands on her, she was back up, pulling her sword with her and bringing her shield around, scanning for the biggest, toughest target on the field and rushing at him, pissed off and ready to take names.

If she had been doubly glad, the day before, for choosing this particular robe, she was triply glad today for it.  Hawke had to do a lot more running and dodging than she had been used to doing, strictly speaking, and it was much easier without tripping over the hem of a gown-type robe.  There were several times that she was saved from a harsh blow or a cut simply because she did not have a hem to trip over.

She had just run over to Varric, who had been taking a rather surprising number of hits from the various enemy archers who were stationed around the killing field, when Hawke stepped inadvertently into one of the spring traps herself, falling to her knees and crying out in pain.  It had gotten relatively lower down on her leg, just above her ankle, but she was sure that she was going to be out unless she could get Fenris or Aveline over to pull the trap apart for her.  Her arms were too weak, yank on it though she tried, until she got the desperate idea to use force magic to separate the two halves.

Just as Hawke formulated the plan and was preparing her mana to act, one of the enemy rogues got past Varric, and she felt cold steel stab into her back.  She cried out, more loudly this time.  The trap exploded around her and the shrapnel flew into the air, stabbing through the throat of the rogue.  As his body fell heavily to the ground, Hawke scrabbled her fingers along her back, feeling desperately for the knife that she was afraid was still in there.  She had moments to act; she was the best Healer, the only _real_ Healer, and there was no way that she could get back to Kirkwall in time for Anders to see to her if she couldn’t get the knife out and get herself Healed.

Her vision started to go cloudy around the edges, a dark sort of cloudy, and she slumped forward, scrabbling desperately at where she thought the wound was.  Her fingers grasped the edge of the blade and sliced down to the bone as she pulled the thing out; it dropped from her useless grasp and she gasped sharply.  Hawke tasted the metallic tang of blood on her tongue and took a deep breath in, calling on her mana and flooding herself with it, formulating Healing. 

Someone was holding her shoulders then, and pushing her down onto her stomach on the sparse, straggly grass that the Wounded Coast had to offer.  The sweetly metallic taste of lyrium assaulted her tongue in place of blood, and she instinctively called on her mana again, flooding herself with Healing.  Hawke lay in the grass, gasping for air, her ears ringing as if she took a sharp blow, but a quick Deliving showed her she had Healed both her back and the sharp cuts on her fingers, although both might bear scars.

Coughing, Hawke managed to get to her hands and knees and looked around.  It seemed as if the fighting was over, for all the bandits appeared to be lying dead.  How long was she out?  It had seemed scant moments, at the most.  She shook her head; the hair was mostly coming out of the long tail she customarily kept it in when she was out on jobs such as this, and wisps of it framed her face darkly.  She screwed up her mouth and spit; a mix of blood and leftover lyrium.  Lovely.  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she sat up straighter.  Varric was beside her, eyes concerned.  Several feet away, Merrill was Healing a cut on Isabela’s thigh.  Aveline was, apparently, doing the throatcutting.  With alarm, Hawke looked around for Fenris, until she managed to make herself slightly dizzy.

“Woah, there.  Don’t be a hero, Hawke,” Varric said, but Hawke straightened and saw him.  He was walking towards her.  He was angry.

“I told you,” Fenris said, throwing his sword down and squatting in front of her.  “I told you, you are not ready for such things, Hawke.  That rogue nearly killed you!”

“But he didn’t,” Hawke said, all cocky assurances and smug grins.  Fenris scowled and stood up, stripping his gauntlets off and tossing them to the ground beside his sword.

“But he almost did,” the elf growled, then ran his fingers through bloodied hair, smearing it further.  He whirled back to face Hawke, scowling down at her.  “He almost did, and where would Bethy be if he had succeeded?  If you’d have died.  You would be gone, Hawke.  Even dragons are eventually slain.”

“I never said I was a dragon,” Hawke countered, pushing herself to her feet and brushing off whatever grass was sticking to her overrobe and knees. 

“You act like one,” Fenris raged, throwing his hands in the air.  “You act like you are some invincible being, Marian, but you’re not.  You’re one woman, and what would Bethy do if you _died_?”  He dropped his hands to the side, tilting his head down.  Locks of bloodied, silvery-white hair fell into his eyes.  “What would _I_ do?” His voice was plaintive, on the verge of tears.

“I didn’t know you cared anymore,” Hawke sniped, determined to not be moved.  “I didn’t know you cared about me at all.”

“How could you say such a thing?” Fenris shouted, looking back up at her.  “How?  _You’re_ the one who went off with that _Orlesian_ —“

“I didn’t go off with anyone!” Hawke shouted at him, and realized that scant inches separated the two.  She pushed his breastplate slightly, shoving him away.  “I didn’t go off with anyone and I’m not the one who took the ribbon off!”

His mossy green eyes widened, darted down to his wrist.  “Is that what this is all about?  You fool.  I told you, I ran across some slavers.  One of them managed to rip the thing off.”

“Oh, how convenient.  Yes, running across slavers.  Better that story than admitting you just don’t want to deal with me anymore!”  Her eyes fell on the staff that lay behind him.  Her favorite staff, broken in half.  Hawke’s heart fell into her stomach.  That was her _favorite_ staff!

“It’s not just a story, it’s the truth, Marian!” Off to the side, Isabela was standing with her hip cocked, eyebrows raised.  Merrill was coming forward, to separate them or to mediate, Hawke didn’t know, but Aveline put a hand on the little Dalish’s chest to keep her from going any further.  Varric had a notebook out and was scribbling frantically.  Hawke scowled at them and opened her mouth to shout that she and Fenris were _not_ entertainment when Fenris grabbed hold of her overrobe with either hand and pulled her close.

“Marian, you are the most important thing in the world to me.  You, and Bethy.  How could you think I would leave either of you?  I thought… I thought you wanted the abomination, and then that Orlesian…”

She tried to pull away from him slightly, but his hands slid around her shoulders and then she was pulled against him, roughly, and his lips were on hers.  She gaped for a moment, not returning the kiss, and then suddenly… _she was where she wanted to be_.  Fenris still wanted her.  He very much wanted her. _And she wanted him_. She parted her lips slightly and he deepened the kiss, digging his fingers into her shoulders roughly. 

To the side, all four of her friends were clapping and cheering, but Fenris seemed to give them absolutely no mind as his lips parted and his tongue touched Hawke’s lips.  She parted her own, fingers scrambling for purchase on him, head spinning pleasantly.  Fenris’s hands dropped to her hips and he pulled her close for a moment, and then stepped away, breathing heavily.

“I… apologize,” he said, voice much softer, gentler, than the one he had most recently been speaking to her in.

“No need,” Hawke told him, and pulled him against her again, pressing their lips together a second time.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but by the time they broke apart, Aveline, Varric, Merrill, and Isabela had gotten tired of their show, apparently, as the rogues were busy looting bodies and Merrill was seeing to Aveline, a shallow gash across the woman’s cheek. 

Aveline glanced at where Fenris was standing, arms around Hawke, and Hawke was standing, arms around Fenris.  She smirked, slightly.  “It’s about time,” she said, in a bored tone.

“Was this your plan all along?” Hawke asked, voice rising in incredulity.  Aveline’s smirk broadened.

“Friends sometimes push,” was all she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of updates the last two weeks. I have had the flu, and at one point had the flu, two ear infections, a sinus infection, and bronchitis at the same time. I spent a good four days living in an alternate reality that was populated with Nyquil and Robitussin and not being quite sure if my husband were actually home from work, or if I was dreaming. 
> 
> Subsequently, it's taken me since the last chapter to get this written. Of course, this is over 11,000 words, which is longer than my chapters *have* been, but it still took me more than two weeks. I hope you all enjoyed it. I had a lot of fun writing the latter half.


	28. Chapter 28, In Which Things Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris get a surprise in Lowtown market, Hawke breaks up with Pierre, and a Satinalia party is had.
> 
> Warning: Explicit chapter. Adult situations. Drinking ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being a month late with this. The flu that I had... didn't go away. And I couldn't sit up and type. I now have a laptop, which is fine for lying down or reclining and typing, which is why I managed to finish up this chapter in just 4 days. My lungs and I need to have some talks, and next time I'll beg them for a steroid shot so I don't wind up going to the doctor twice about the same thing again. 
> 
> But the chapter is over 12k words long, and there's a *lot* of fluff in this. I mean, it's basically all either fluff or smut in this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

It was not a difficult thing, to keep Hawke at home for the next two days.  Rather, it was not a difficult thing for Fenris to keep Hawke at her estate for the next two days; indeed, it seemed that the two of them and Bethy were determined to sicken the rest of the household with how sweetly they were playing family.  Anders, thinking better of it, made sure to stay away during this very brief “honeymoon” period, as much for Hawke’s sake as it was for his own; the one time that Fenris ran into him, while the two men were bound for the kitchen, they engaged in a shouting match which woke Bethy from her nap and got both of them the rougher side of Hawke’s tongue.  After that, Anders felt he was best served staying in his clinic, and Fenris felt _he_ was best served apologizing to Hawke and settling Bethy back into sleep.

Hawke had before her a difficult task: she had to speak with Pierre de Launcet and explain… things… to him, without either insulting him or causing Fenris to freak out.  She wasn’t sure that her lover would understand that yes, she had to meet with Pierre and yes, she would need to do so without him being present, but it was something that was going to have to happen, and sooner rather than later.

On the third day after returning home from the trip to the Wounded Coast, Hawke managed to wake before Fenris, who was happily sated and asleep in her bed, the sheet tangled around his bare legs and one arm thrown over his eyes, mouth slightly open.  As much as she would have enjoyed waking him in... enjoyable... ways, she knew that Bethy would be waking soon, as well, and this would give her time to write out a quick note for Bodahn to get delivered to the de Launcet estate.  Pierre was, she knew, still in town, and would be until after Satinalia, and she would have plenty of time to meet with him, assuming, of course, that she could get away from Fenris and get him alone.

Letter written and sealed, and placed in the “Outgoing” box, Hawke was just getting ready to mount the steps to her room when she heard the tell-tale sounds of Bethy rousing in the nursery, and so mentally changed course from _change clothes in room to something more suitable_ to _check on daughter_.  It was to the point now, with Bethy, that if they could hear her, after she had woken, it would be soon when she would need seeing to; they usually only had a short time before her happy babbling turned into irritated whining, and Hawke was, if nothing else, diligent about seeing to her child, refusing to let her go too long waiting for her mother, if possible.

Bethy was happy this morning, having pulled herself up with the bars of her crib and was standing there, holding to them and smiling brightly when Hawke pushed the door open.  “Good morning!” Hawke called out to her, sing-song, and Bethy squealed a greeting in return.  Hawke opened and closed her hand in the traditional “hello!” greeting, and Bethy imitated her mother before shoving her fist in her mouth and grinning around it.

“Aren’t you going to say good morning to me, little miss?” Hawke asked, lifting Bethy up and into her arms.  Bethy transferred her fist from her mouth to her mother’s hair, getting drool all in the dark tresses, and Hawke huffed an irritated sigh.  “You are half the reason I need to wash my hair every night,” she complained, and Bethy squealed a laugh again, blinking bright eyes.  Were they turning greener?  Or were they going to stay that shade of blue?  They were already close to Hawke’s color, but she would dearly love to see them the mossy green of Fenris’s eyes.  “You have a wet nappy,” Hawke informed Bethy, settling her on a hip and padding over to the changing table.  She could hear the sounds of Fenris stirring in her room as she lay Bethy down and proceeded to change her.  “Your daddy is awake,” she said, in a quiet voice. 

“Hi,” Bethy told her, opening and closing her hand again.

“Hello to you, too,” she said, and lifted up Bethy’s sleeping gown to expose her belly.  “What’s this?”  Quick fingers tickled over sensitive skin and Bethy kicked her legs, squealing loudly with laughter.  “A tickle belly?”  She stopped before happy tickling became too much, and Bethy lay there, breathless with laughter and somewhat red in the face.  “Clean nappy!” Hawke said, sing-song again, and Bethy lifted her arms up to indicate she wanted to be held. 

A cold nose pressed against the back of her knee and Hawke jumped slightly, surprised that she didn’t notice Hero had come into the room.  The mabari wagged his nub of a tail, tongue lolling out of his grinning mouth.  As Hawke picked up Bethy from the changing table, she said, “Where’s Hero?”  Bethy laughed and pointed at the dog, and Hawke smiled.  “Good job, Bethy!”  It was exciting, to watch her develop and learn skills.  It was truly something she had never experienced before, but was relishing now. 

When Bethy started clapping her hands and bouncing in Hawke’s arms, she turned around and saw Fenris, dressed for the day and with brushed hair, entering the nursery.  He had a relaxed smile playing on his lips, and eyes only for Bethy.  She held out her arms to him and started babbling, every now and then saying “hi” in such a way as to be understood, and as soon as Fenris was near enough, Hawke helped Bethy into his arms.

“She missed you,” Hawke said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.  Fenris blushed just slightly, still unused to (and, as he had confessed, inordinately pleased by) the affection and the attention.

“How can she miss me when she just saw me last night?” he asked, turning his smile from one girl to the other.

“The same way I missed you,” Hawke told him.  “Now, if you’ve got her, I’ll go get dressed.  She hasn’t eaten yet.”

“Am I to do the gruel again?” he asked, trepidation thick in his tone, and Hawke chuckled and ruffled Bethy’s thin, dark hair.

“Yes, you are,” she said.  “She’s got to learn to eat like real people do.”

“She already _is_ a real person,” he objected, weakly.

“But she needs to learn to eat _properly_ ,” Hawke said, matter settled.

“You do not think she is too young for this?”

“No, Fenris, she’s fine,” Hawke said, and he tilted his head slightly to hide his eyes with his bangs.  She suppressed a smile –who knew that Fenris was such father material? —and patted him on the arm before heading into her bedroom to change into something more suitable to wear around the house than a thin sleeping shift.  Fenris may not object to her wearing so little around the estate, but any potential visitors would certainly get too much of an inappropriate eyeful!

By the time she was properly dressed, Fenris had seen to getting Bethy set up in her little chair with the gruel, and was feeding her much the same way Hawke tried to do that first time: tongue sticking out of mouth, eyes wide, trying to evade grabbing hands and get the laden spoon into her mouth.  Hawke leaned against the doorframe into the dining room and watched the two of them for several long moments, arms folded under her breasts in a relaxed manner and a smile playing on her lips; they looked, quite frankly, adorable.  And no one watching the two of them would suspect they were anything _other than_ father and daughter.  _It’s a good thing Fenris has made up his mind_ , she thought to herself, as Fenris tried, unsuccessfully this time, to slip a spoonful of the stuff past Bethy’s lips. 

“I’m going to need to go out this afternoon,” she announced from the doorway, and two sets of eyes turned to regard her: mossy green and a dark, yet hazy, blue.

“Just you?” Fenris asked, curious, and using the opportunity of distraction to slip the spoonful of gruel into Bethy’s mouth.  The child look surprised for a moment, and then mimed chewing while spitting out only about half of it onto her chin.  Fenris swept in quickly to wipe the spit-out gruel from her face.

“For part of it,” Hawke acknowledged.  “There’s a task that I need to see to.”

“A task you do not want me aware of?” he replied, suspicion lacing his words.

“It’s not exactly something I want to fight about, but if it reassures you, I need to see Pierre de Launcet.”  The tilt of Fenris’s head told Hawke everything she needed to know about that particular topic, and she sighed heavily and crossed over to where her… partner? …and child were, taking a seat beside Bethy in one of the vacant chairs.  “It’s not like that,” she assured him.  “I need to explain to him that I won’t, ah… be seeing him.  In the future.”

“You will not,” Fenris said, vacantly, loading up the spoon once more, eyes trained on their child.

“That’s right,” Hawke said, nudging his bare foot with her own slippered one.  “And I need to let him know that, Fenris.  It’s a courtesy, if nothing else.”

“Yes, well…” Fenris said, shrugging uncomfortably.  Bethy cooperated better this time, although she still reached for the spoon once it got near enough to her face.

“And I don’t think it would be polite for you to be there with me.  It might seem like… I don’t know, like you’re rubbing it in.  And I need to maintain a good relationship with the de Launcets.  If nothing else, Dulci was a friend of my mother’s when they were younger.”

“I understand,” he replied, faintly. 

“Do you?” Hawke asked, quietly, reaching out to touch his elbow gently.  “There’s really nothing you need to be concerned about.  I’ll just pop over to see him for a few moments, is all.  I… hope you do not expect me to not be friends with him.  Pierre is a very nice gentleman who is _going back to Orlais_ at the end of the Season.”

“I cannot tell you who you may or may not be friends with,” Fenris grumped, sliding his eyes to Hawke’s face for a moment before bringing them back to Bethany.  “I would not do such a thing.”

“I just want to make sure we’re both on the same page,” she told him, squeezing his arm slightly before withdrawing her hand.  She shot him a reassuring smile.  “Besides, it’s not like _I’m_ planning on running away to Orlais with him, right?”

“I would hope not.  You are too Ferelden to be happy in Orlais.”  Hawke barked a laugh at that.

“You’re not wrong, there,” she replied, happily.  How _anyone_ could be happy in Orlais was beyond her ken.

“If… you are going to do this thing,” he said, after a few minutes of comfortable quiet, sans the playful babbling of Bethy.  “I will stay here.  With Bethy.” He added, hastily.

“I shouldn’t be out long,” Hawke promised him.  “We could all go out.  Do some shopping.”  She leaned onto the table, resting on her elbows, her chin on her hands.  “I promised Merrill I would help her pick out some new plates.  She keeps breaking hers.”

“That figures,” Fenris muttered.  His attempt to feed Bethy another spoonful was met with success, and he brightened.  “The witch is nearly as clumsy as you are.”

“Hey,” Hawke said, assuming a faux “affronted” attitude.  “I’m not clumsy.”

“You are the worst mage I know,” Fenris told her, the corner of his mouth turned up in a slight smirk.

“Coming from you,” Hawke said, “that’s a compliment.”  Fenris simply bobbed his head in affirmation.  “So: breakfast for us, and then we’ll all go out and get Merrill?”

“I suppose,” he said, huffing a sigh, but he looked pleased to be included in the activities, anyway.

“Excellent,” Hawke said, leaning over to ruffle the thin, dark hair on Bethy’s head, making her laugh.  She stood and went around the table, then bent and pressed a quick kiss to Fenris’s cheek, which made him blush and duck his face down.  Hawke grinned at it and made to ruffle _his_ hair, but Fenris moved out of the way and shot her a look, brows knitting together; kissing was welcome, messing about with his hair was not, the look said.  “I’ll go ahead and get Bethy’s bag ready for us going out.”

“As you wish,” Fenris said, turning his attention back to their daughter.

* * *

The day out shopping had been pleasant enough, all things considered.  Fenris hadn’t fought with Merrill, which was his usual state of things and Merrill had been happy for some company, especially when that company came with small children.  Bethy always seemed to make Merrill vaguely sad, in a bittersweet sort of way, and Merrill had told her once that she missed the children in the Sabrae clan, and missed watching them and listening to their storyteller teaching, or watching as they picked up the skills they would need in order to be productive clan members.  Hawke also suspected it had a little something to do with the fact that Merrill did not see herself as ever getting the chance to be a mother, despite wanting to be one; it was bad enough that Carver had caught her eye, but the man was a templar and she a blood mage and certainly nothing could come of their relationship other than hurried couplings (or triplings, when Isabela got involved) and clandestine trysts, for both of their sakes.

Hawke had been the one to carry around Bethy for their outing, having wrapped her up in the sling to keep the child close to her chest, and Fenris was content enough to carry about the bag with Bethy’s things in it, although his ears did flush red several times when some of the Hightown ladies got too close and giggled (even if he wasn’t the subject of said giggling.)  He was learning to deal with being so encumbered and Hawke had caught him several times practicing carrying the bag around and drawing his blade; the man was determined to protect his daughter and… partner?... whatever Hawke was to him, at any rate, which meant that he wasn’t going to be caught empty-handed in an attack.  Daytime fights were rare, but not unheard of, and Hawke was making a point to not take Bethy out after dark, which increased their safety level tremendously.  However, Fenris was of the mind, “better safe than in a Lowtown back alley with a shiv in your side,” and no one faulted him for that.

And now, as they browsed around one of the Lowtown market stalls that catered to various textiles such as rugs and blankets, Hawke supported Bethy while standing next to Merrill, the two women with their heads together and discussing various weaves and patterns, while Fenris stood off to the side, trying to look more intimidating and less like he was bored.  Bethy peeked over her mother’s shoulder and opened, then closed her hand in greeting to her father.  Fenris darted a look around quickly and, seeing no one gazing their way, repeated the gesture.  This caused Bethy to squeal with laughter, and earned her a look from the two women as well as the proprietor of the market stall.  Seeing that there was nothing amiss, Hawke and Merrill went back to discussing the blankets, and Bethy went back to waving at her father.

When Fenris did not repeat the gesture, Bethy screwed up her face and sucked in air, and then yelled out, as loudly as her lungs could possibly yell, “dada! Dadadada!” while trying to squirm away from Hawke.  She reached for Fenris and before anyone had much of a chance to react, the screaming was accompanied by huge tears and sobs, in between cries for her dada. 

Quickly, Hawke assessed the situation and realized that nothing short of being held by Fenris was going to calm the child.  However, the middle of Lowtown was certainly not the best place for the Tevinter elf to be seen catering to a child crying for her dada.  As they were too far from Merrill’s place in the alienage, Hawke pointed them to The Hanged Man and the three of them rushed to that upstanding establishment.

Opening the door, they were met with joyful cries of “Hawke!” that soon died down when the child did not stop her caterwauling.  Luckily, Varric was coming down the steps from the second floor right then and took one look at the scene, sighed visibly, and headed back towards his palatial suite.  Hawke followed quickly, not trying to placate Bethy or soothe the crying, and Fenris followed right on her heels.

“What’s the matter?” Varric asked, as Hawke began undoing the wrap around her.  Fenris hovered, shifting from foot to foot, while Merrill, laden with her purchases, kicked the door closed with bare toes.

“She just started crying for her dada,” Hawke said, trying not to let the irritation lace her words.  Bethy struggled against her mother, reaching for Fenris, and within moments Hawke was handing her over.  There were some residual tears and sniffling, but Bethy clung to the elf as if he were a lifeline.

“In the middle of the market,” Merrill added, helpfully, dropping the shopping onto Varric’s table.  Fenris shushed Bethy, meanwhile, bouncing her slightly.

“Is this the first time she’s done it?” Varric asked, settling down in his customary chair at the head of the table.

“Yes,” Hawke said, brushing loose strands of hair from her face and settling in beside Varric.  Fenris paced with Bethy.  “And hopefully it’s going to be the last.”

“Oh, but it won’t,” Merrill told her, shaking her head.  “I saw similar things in the clan.  Fenris is probably her favorite parent right now.  Probably the time you just spent apart,” and here she had the grace to blush brightly while Fenris and Hawke carefully avoiding looking at each other, “Er… it probably didn’t help.  I’ve seen it before, when our hunters had to be gone for several days away from the clan, and they had small children like Bethy.”

“She can’t just be calling him dada out in the middle of the markets, though,” Varric said, clueing in quickly on the most bothersome part.

“It isn’t my fault,” Fenris said, when three sets of eyes rested on him. 

“No one said it was,” Hawke pointed out, but Fenris simply shrugged uncomfortably and sat down on the floor with the child in a spot he seemed to feel was clean enough.  Considering the standards he kept for his mansion, Varric’s palatial Hanged Man suite was spotless.  “But we can’t have her doing that every time we’re out, and it doesn’t look right for you to be carrying her around.”

“It isn’t as safe for me to be carrying her around,” Fenris said.  “I can’t protect you both if someone were to attack.  You can, at least, cast without a staff if need be, but I either have to be up close to someone or I have to wield my blade, neither of which is possible with an infant in my arms.”

“I’m sorry, Varric,” Hawke said, suddenly, blinking owlishly.  “I… are we keeping you?  You were headed downstairs when we came in.”

Varric waved her off.  “Nothing important.  Some Merchant’s Guild business that I’m happy to have an excuse to avoid, actually.”

“Oh, well, it was fortunate then that this happened!” Merrill chirped brightly, and Hawke chuckled at the grin that broke out on the dwarf’s face.

“The timing could have been worse, Daisy,” Varric agreed.

“If you’re looking for an excuse to stay away from the Merchant’s Guild, how about keeping Fenris and Bethy company?  I’ve got an… an errand, to run, that Fenris isn’t interested in.”

“Hawke, I do not think now is the time— “ Fenris began.

“I need to do it, Fenris,” Hawke said.  “And we discussed it already.”

“What errand?” Varric asked, curiosity piqued.

“I need to go by the de Launcets and speak with Pierre about a personal matter,” Hawke told him, somewhat haltingly and strictly avoiding looking at Fenris.

“A personal matter with Pierre de Launcet, eh?” Varric said, rubbing his chin.  “I guess I can babysit, but you have to tell me more about this personal matter.”

“The matter is not up for discussion, dwarf,” Fenris grumped, helping Bethy to stand.

“Well, I have to get some sort of payment for my troubles,” Varric said.

“You’re getting out of a Merchant’s Guild meeting.  What more could you want?” Fenris asked.

“I could, and do, want to know what kind of ‘personal business’ Hawke could have to discuss with Pierre de Launcet,” Varric smirked.

“Oh, for the love of…. I’m just letting him know I will not be seeing him in… in a romantic sort of way, Varric.  That’s all.”

“Well.  See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Varric asked. Fenris simply growled, shooting the dwarf a dark look through angrily lowered brows, which caused Bethy to laugh and grab for them.  Fenris leaned back slightly, out of her reach, which caused her to laugh again.

“Not _everything_ is your business, Varric,” Hawke said, folding her arms under her breasts and affecting the beginnings of a scowl.

“If everything wasn’t my business, Hawke, then we wouldn’t be able to get half the jobs we get, or find out the kinds of things we find out.”  When the scowl did not lessen, Varric raised his hands in mock supplication.  “Fine, fine.  Not everything is my business.  But how am I going to be your biographer if I don’t know the good stuff?”

“This isn’t even ‘good stuff,’ Varric,” Hawke told him.

“Your idea of ‘good stuff’ is different from mine and my readers’ idea of ‘good stuff,’” came the dignified response, and Hawke couldn’t help but huff a breath of a laugh at that.  Varric was a writer first and a Merchant Prince second.  Or maybe fifth or sixth.  Or tenth, come to think of it. 

“Well, now you know,” Hawke said.

“That’s half the battle,” Varric agreed.  “Now, go, go.  I’ll stay here with them and babysit.”  Fenris shot him another hard look, and Merrill was too busy flipping through one of the books from Varric’s bookshelf to acknowledge the impending departure.

“I’ll be back soon,” she promised Fenris, and ruffled Bethy’s hair again.  Bethy reached up for her mother, and Hawke bent down to pick her up and cuddle her close, kissing her forehead quickly.  “Promise I’ll be back before too long,” she said, to Bethy this time. 

The walk back up to Hightown, by herself, gave her time to formulate what, exactly, she was going to say.  There were a lot of different ways to say, “Sorry, but I can’t see you anymore,” some of which only vaguely touched on the truth of the matter while others skirted the truth completely, and Hawke wasn’t sure which tactic was going to be the best.  She was sure, however, that most of the people she passed thought she was insane, as she gestured to herself and talked to herself out loud for most of the trip up the steps and up the hill that kept Hightown from the same sort of maritime disasters that Lowtown was subject to.

The most she had to fear was being approached by hawkers trying to sell off their wares, what with it being daytime and all, and so she felt at leisure to make the walk take as long as she needed.  By the time she was in the “old money” district of Hightown and near the de Launcet estate, she had worked out most of what she wanted to say, assuming the conversation went the way she wanted it to.  Hawke was glad that the return message had come so quickly that morning, affirming that Pierre would be at home to meet with her in the afternoon.  Better to get this over with quickly than have it drag out more days; Fenris, at the least, would be more relieved when it was over and he didn’t have any sort of “competition” with the man.  He got jealous rather easily, Hawke had found.  It was both endearing and maddening, almost as if he didn’t trust her.

A series of quick knocks led to the door being opened more swiftly than she expected, and the butler ushered her in and to the foyer with barely concealed distaste.  Champion of Kirkwall she may be, and the scion of the Amells, an old, noble family, but the butler cared little for those things and made it obvious that she wasn’t a de Launcet and, therefore, wasn’t nearly as important as his employers.  Every time Hawke had to come to the de Launcet manor, she experienced the same sort of reception from the butler, regardless of how warm or cold her reception with Guillaume and Dulci was.

“I need to speak with Pierre,” she told the butler, who sneered at her slightly.

“Wait here,” he intoned, in an Orlesian accent.  Maker’s breath, she couldn’t be with Pierre simply because she’d never be able to stand all the Orlesians.  Hawke was too Ferelden for that. 

After only a few minutes, Pierre met her in the foyer and invited her in, telling a passing servant to bring wine to the formal sitting room.  Hawke tried to stop him, but Pierre simply overrode her words, smiling brightly all the while and clearly glad to see her, especially alone.  That… was going to make things more difficult, she feared, because of her own sense of guilt that was already preying on her mind.

“I am _glad_ to see you, Marian,” Pierre said, for the third time, once the wine had arrived and been poured.  “I had heard from Aveline that you were hurt on the Wounded Coast.”

“Nothing I couldn’t Heal,” she assured him, sipping her wine, a rich red that tasted sweet on her tongue.  It _was_ very nice.

“Even so,” Pierre said, reaching his hand out to grasp her free hand.  “I would not see you injured if I could help it.”

“Pierre,” she said, setting the wineglass down and clearing her throat, gently withdrawing her hand.  “There’s… something I need to discuss with you.”

“I am at your disposal, my dear,” Pierre said, smiling broadly.

“I… I know that I said we could… see each other… socially?”  Pierre’s brows arched, taking on a suddenly very worried cast.

“But you find that is not the case now,” he said, when she took a beat too long before continuing.

“I am an apostate, and… well, I do unconventional work,” she told him, keeping her eyes on her wineglass so she didn’t have to be privy to any hurt expressions.  “And besides that, I have to take care of Bethy.  It probably isn’t a good idea for a comte to get involved with me,” she finished up, somewhat lamely, and took a long sip of wine.

“And of course, there is the elf.”  She spit the wine out, thankfully, back into the glass.

“The elf?” she said, trying to affect innocence and wiping at her mouth with a napkin.

“The one from that night.  Your… associate.”

“My associate,” she said, in faint agreement.

“He’s… he is Bethy’s father, is he not?”  She felt the hairs on her neck stand up and breathed in deeply, touching her mana.  No; she couldn’t attack him, she’d never get away with it.  Still, she held onto her magic tightly, as a comfort, if nothing else.

“I… don’t see what you mean,” Hawke croaked, instead of lashing out with an ice spell.

“You didn’t adopt her.  You had her.  I know you were absent from Kirkwall for a year, gone to Antiva and Rivain, but… he was gone, too, was he not?  He’s the father.”

“Pierre, are you… are you trying to blackmail me?”

“What?  No!  Maker’s breath, Marian, I would do no such thing!” he said, aghast, sitting up perfectly straight in his chair, eyes gone wide with shock.

“Then why would you bring up such a subject?” she asked him, leaning forward and replacing her wineglass on the little table.

“Because I want you to know I understand why you would not… choose me,” he mumbled, eyes cast down.

“Who else thinks such a thing?”

“No one that I know of, I swear it,” Pierre said, bringing his eyes back up to meet hers.  She saw nothing but honesty and earnestness in them.  “Most people only speak of you as the Champion.  There are rumors of your elven lover, and of him being the father to your child, of course, but they are just that – rumors, with no substance.  There are rumors that all of your… associates… are your lovers.  There are rumors that the dwarf is the father of your child.  But they are just that – rumors.  I feel I know the truth a little better simply because your being the Champion doesn’t have as much impact on me, since I live in Orlais.  But to the people here…”

“I am someone in authority,” Hawke said, nodding in agreement.  “And people are going to gossip about those in authority, yes.”

“I am not trying to threaten or blackmail you, though, I swear it on my mother’s grave, Marian,” he pressed, reaching out to lay a hand on her arm.  “I simply understand why it is we can not be together, even if I do not like it.”

“I appreciate that, Pierre,” Hawke said, and she did, because it meant she wouldn’t have to have him killed.  Still, Varric needed to know about this, so that he could keep his eyes and ears open for any such rumors that grew into something other than “just rumors.”  The last thing she needed was the Chantry sniffing around.  Come to think of it, she’d probably see if she could get Sebastian listening in on the clerics.  He might, for this reason, so long as Hawke promised she would only use it to protect Bethy from being taken.

“I would hope,” he said, tentatively, “that we could still remain friends.”

“Of course we can still be friends!” Hawke exclaimed, putting on a brittle, nearly-false smile.  “He can’t tell me who I can and can’t be friends with, after all, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It did cross my mind.  I’ve seen his sword; it looks rather large and dangerous,” Pierre said.

“He’s a big softie, once you get to know him,” Hawke lied, and drained what remained in her wine glass.  “And speaking of… I left him with Bethy.  I should probably get back.”

“Will you visit me, sometime?  With Bethy?  Before I leave for Orlais again, that is,” Pierre said, hurriedly, standing when Hawke stood.

“I’ll be having a Satinalia party.  The de Launcets are invited, and, by extension, you are as well.  Please feel free to come by and have something to drink, at the very least.  And call on me, when you’re here.  And write to me, when you’re not,” Hawke said, her brittle smile turning more genuine.  She never could have enough pen-friends.

Pierre escorted her from the manor, wishing her farewell and brushing a kiss over her knuckles.  If he looked somewhat sad and regretful, well… Hawke knew it was for the best, in the long run.

* * *

Hawke was unusually quiet after she stopped back by The Hanged Man.  Merrill had, apparently, taken her leave of Varric and Fenris, and Varric passed along a message from the little Dalish that they would try to get together another time and finish their shopping.  Fenris was almost overly relieved to see Hawke, eyeing her head-to-toe several times as if to make sure that her clothing was unmussed and she was undamaged.  Hawke just managed to not roll her eyes at the man, assuring him that the most that she and Pierre de Launcet did was talk over some wine. Varric watched the exchange with no small amount of glee, fingers nearly twitching to be writing this all down, and Hawke was certain that it would end up in one serial or another, and she would be forced to read about herself and Fenris because Hawke read _all_ of Varric’s things out of some misplaced sense of friendly obligation.

Bethy seemed to not miss her mother at all; although Hawke was only gone for little more than an hour, the child had played herself out with her father and then promptly fallen asleep on a blanket supplied by Varric.  Fenris, at least, had the grace to look somewhat abashed by the turn of events; Varric thought it was hilarious, but he would. 

Waking Bethy up with no immediate form of food on hand was going to be tricky, at best, but they managed it, and Hawke wrung a promise out from Varric that they get together and speak privily sometime before her Satinalia party.  Fenris shot her a suspicious glance, but Hawke kept her face open and calm and Varric seemed to not take the entire thing amiss this time or, if he did, chose to not tease the couple about it. 

The walk back to Hightown went quickly, and just when Bethy was starting to make her displeasure known to her parents, they arrived at Hawke’s estate and set about skipping the gruel and going straight for the goat’s milk in the bubby pot.  Bethy accepted this turn of events, but not without giving her mother a baleful look that informed her she _would_ play the gruel game, whether Hawke wanted to or not.  Hawke thought that adding in some sauced apple would go well, and, as Fenris settled on the sofa and fed Bethy, she set to peeling a couple of apples and putting some water on to boil with a few spices and a touch of honey.  The sauce would hold for a couple of days, and if Bethy liked it, it wouldn’t even last that long.

Orana was surprised to see her mistress in the kitchen, but pleasantly so, and went about starting to prepare dinner while Hawke sat at the small table peeling the apples, the two women chatting amicably over their domestic tasks.  Sandal ran into the kitchen, Hero at his heels, and clapped his hands so vigorously over the idea of sauced apples that Hawke had to add a touch more water, spices, and honey, and another two apples to peel, so that she would have enough for Sandal as well as Bethy.  The boy may be touched, but it was simply like having an older child in the house.  Most of the time.  When salamanders weren’t involved.  Hawke rather enjoyed it; having Bethy had brought out her maternal instincts quite sharply, and it did Sandal some good to have a sort of mother-figure, even if they were closer to the same age than not, and he a dwarf.

The conversation flowed naturally as Hawke went about making the sauced apple and Orana went about setting up the dinner, naturally gravitating to the Satinalia party that Hawke was throwing and that Orana was cooking for and serving at.  Despite living in Kirkwall for little more than a year and a half, Orana had yet to venture outside of the estate and into Kirkwall proper unless Hawke was there with her, and then abjectly refused to go anyplace other than the markets to help pick out what groceries were needed, or perhaps for soaps for laundry and washing up and the like.  Hawke needed more than just Orana to help serve at the party, however, and she was concerned about finding people on such short notice, since Orana had not made any friends, until the little elf suggested that Hawke approach Merrill about the subject. 

“Perhaps some of the elves in the alienage would appreciate the work, Mistress,” Orana said, cutting up potatoes and carrots for the stew.

“You don’t think it’s terribly gauche of me to do so?  Especially since Fenris is such a figure in the household.”

“I do not think Messere Fenris cares one way or another,” Orana said.  She was always bolder when she was cooking and cleaning, and would speak with less care to her words than otherwise, and Hawke was glad that she had, at least, become comfortable enough to do that.

“Do you care, Orana?” Hawke asked, gently, as she put the quartered and chopped apples into the boiling water.  “Would it be upsetting to you?”

“Not at all, Mistress.  Paying someone for honest work?”  She glanced shyly at Hawke from the corner of her eye.  “Besides, you are well known in the alienage.  Merrill has told me that the elves there are thankful for what help you’ve given them.  I do not think that they would consider working an evening for you to be insulting.”  She sniffed slightly.  “Nor do I think they would be upset that Messere Fenris spends most of his time here,” she said, more delicately.

“The glowy elf is nice,” Sandal added, quite helpfully, and Hero tugged at the hem of Hawke’s robes, to make his opinion known as well.

“Well, I’m sure we can all agree on that,” Hawke said, to no one in specific.  “And if you don’t think there’ll be objections, Orana, I’ll approach Merrill about it tomorrow.”  The idea still made her vaguely uncomfortable, but Hawke decided she would just have to get over that.  “Why am _I_ always the one hosting these things?” she asked, again to no one in particular.  “Just once I’d like to see Varric host a party at the Hanged Man.” 

Orana giggled so hard that she snorted and then looked abashed, quickly adding the potatoes to the stew she was preparing over the large hearth.

“And with that, I’m going to find Fenris again,” Hawke said, with a smile, and put a lid on top of the pot with the apples before setting off out of the kitchen to do precisely that.

Bethy had, apparently, finished up her bubby pot and was starting to doze on Fenris as he read to her, very slowly and very seriously, from the history book he had been reading the last few days.  Hawke smiled as she sat down on the sofa next to them and sighed slightly, a relaxed sort of sound, before resting her head against the large cushion behind her.  Fenris acknowledged her with a smile, while Bethy fell into actual sleep.

“So much for saucing the apples,” Hawke said, quietly.

“I do not think she will sleep long,” Fenris assured her, marking his place in the book with a scrap of paper and then setting it down beside him.  “I think she just got comfortable.”

“It was a long day out for her,” Hawke said.  “And I’m sorry about the market.”  She cupped her chin in her hand and closed her eyes for a moment.

“It is going to cause issues, if she continues to do that.  I cannot let you two go out without protection, but…”

“But we can’t have her breaking down like that everywhere,” Hawke finished, with a sigh.  “At least Pierre is dealt with.”

“There were no… issues… there?” Fenris asked.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she answered evasively.

“Marian,” he replied sternly, fixing her with a steely gaze, and she sighed.

“He figured out that you’re her father.  Her _real_ father.”  The words felt dragged out of her, but she knew that Fenris would not rest until he heard them.

“ _Fasta vass_!” he cursed, sitting up and jostling Bethy enough that she woke momentarily.  Fenris shushed her and lowered his voice, but his posture was still tense.  “That is not something that needs to be bandied about, Marian, and you know it.”

“He said that he’s not going to tell anyone,” she assured him, although the words echoed hollow in her ears this time.  “I’m going to have Varric look into it and see if there are any rumors to that effect going around.  If we have to, I’ll… I don’t know what I’ll do, but surely there had to have been rumors about her being my natural child from the start, right?”

“I do not care.  I cannot be comfortable with the idea,” Fenris said, sternly.  “If the Chantry decided to act…”

“I don’t think they will.  They haven’t so far.”

“You should speak with Sebastian,” Fenris urged.  “Find out if he’s heard anything.”

“That was the next step, after talking about it to Varric,” Hawke promised.

“And this is what you wanted to talk to Varric about,” Fenris mused, relaxing somewhat.  “You should have told both of us then, Marian.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling you at all, Fen, but I figured you wouldn’t let it rest.” 

He glanced down at where Bethy was sleeping in his arms.  “I would not let them take her.”  He glanced up at Marian, eyes fierce.  “I would not let them take you.”  Hawke felt a thrill run through her at the words; she was probably the only mage in existence that Fenris would be so willing to defend.

“I know you wouldn’t,” was all she said, however.  She reached over and patted Fenris’s knee, then stood up.  “Need to check on the apples.”  The faint scent of cinnamon reached even into the library.

The rest of the evening went smoothly, with Bethy waking up in time to try mush with sauced apple (which she loved, if the looks on her face and how cooperative she was with eating the rest of it was any indication) and the stew Orana made was excellent as usual.  Baths were taken and Bethy was put to bed, falling back asleep quickly.

And then it was just Hawke and Fenris, relaxing lazily together in the bed, with Hawke curled up against Fenris, fingers tracing the lyrium markings on his chest in delicate loops and whirls, Fenris with one arm down and around Hawke, holding her close, and the other pillowed behind his head.  He made slow, lazy circles on her back and Hawke was almost afraid he was falling asleep.  She had other plans.

Leaning up, resting her weight on the elbow against the bed, she brushed her lips against Fenris’s, and his eyes opened quickly, mouth quirking into a slight smile.  When she pressed her lips against his again, her mouth slanting over his, he parted his lips slightly and dug his fingers into the back of her neck, holding her in place against his mouth.  Hawke tilted her head just slightly and slipped her tongue out, brushing it against his lips.  Fenris brought his other hand around her and pulled her closer against him, flexing the tips of his fingers against her hip and shifting his body slightly so that she was more atop him.

With a lusty growl, Fenris pulled her tighter against him and Hawke melted into his embrace, tongue stroking over the length of his lips and darting into his mouth teasingly only to be met by his own tongue.  Fenris’s hand dipped down to cup her bottom for a moment, and then he was pulling up her nightgown by fistfuls, seemingly eager to have access to her pale and tender flesh.  Hawke slid one hand down his chest and, pressed between them as it was, began tugging down at the leggings he tended to wear for sleeping in the wintertime.  Fenris lifted his hips up to help Hawke slide them off his body, and her hand brushed over his growing erection, causing him to growl again.

While Fenris kicked off the leggings, Hawke helped pull her nightgown up and over her head, ripping it only slightly when she wasn’t pulling it off quickly enough for Fenris’s pleasure, and tossed it halfway off the bed before turning back to Fenris and meeting him with a deep, scorching kiss.  His hands drifted over her hips and up her back, around to cup her breasts, clever fingers tweaking her hardened nipples almost to where the pain of it overrode the pleasure.  Hawke moaned wantonly against his mouth and Fenris left one hand on her breast while the other traveled slowly down her stomach and the smooth, pale skin there, tickling through the dark curls at the apex of her thighs.  Hawke spread her legs to give him access to his prize and his fingers sought out the little sensitive nub there, almost urgently, as his mouth moved from hers down to the juncture of neck and shoulder, placing open-mouthed kisses on the way down, nipping slightly at the exposed flesh.

Hawke arched into Fenris, digging nails into shoulders, and sighed with pleasure after he bit her neck sharply, then suckled on it gently.  One finger sought out her entrance and slowly, teasingly, pressed itself inside her, while his thumb brushed against her clitoris in slow circles. Hawke dropped her hand down his arm and across his stomach, then down further, until her fingers tickled over the length of his shaft, wrapping themselves around him firmly.  Her thumb teased the head of his cock and the drop of precum that beaded there, and she tilted her head back with a gasp of pleasure when one finger inside of her became two, and the pressure against her clit increased with the twisted stroking of her hand over Fenris’s erection.

His head bobbed down to her neglected breast and he took the nipple into his mouth, suckling on it lustily, his tongue running along the underside of her breast and himself making a valiant effort to take the entirety of it into his mouth.  His other hand cupped its breast, squeezing it gently while his fingers tugged on the nipple, matching the sucking rhythm he was applying to the one his mouth had occupied.  Vaguely, Hawke wondered what it would be like if he had three hands; she wasn’t sure she’d know where to turn, then. 

Pulling away from him somewhat reluctantly, she gently pushed him back on the bed.   Fenris looked first concerned, then confused, but Hawke gave him a reassuring smile and pressed kisses down his sternum.  Fenris sat up on his elbows to watch her, eyes large and pupils blown wide, and Hawke teasingly circled his shaft with her tongue, dipping down to take his sac into her mouth momentarily.  He moaned loudly then, loud enough to be heard downstairs, and she stifled a giggle as he fell back onto a pillow and covered his eyes with his hands, digging his fingers into his scalp.  A sharp intake of breath later and her mouth was sliding down the length of his cock, tongue pressing against the underside of it.  Fenris groaned his pleasure and Hawke brought her hand down to cup his sac, kneading it gently while gliding her tongue over his length.  One of his hands settled on the back of her head, fingers lacing in her dark, loose hair, and she allowed him to guide her, happily bobbing her head up and down on his cock, twisting and twirling her tongue around the head of it when she rose up, pulling lightly on his sac as she slid her mouth back down.

His hips jerked up and his fingers tightened in her hair, and Hawke took a moment to steal a look at his face.  His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly open, an intense look of concentration overwhelming his features.  She smiled around his width and slid her lips back down over him.  When he tried to pull her head up, his entire body tensed underneath her, the harsh and erratic breathing telling her that he was close, she pulled away from his grasp and kept her mouth over his shaft, breathing in deeply before working him with both lips and fingers, stroking his exposed skin and placing kisses along the head of his cock before taking him back into her mouth entirely.

“Marian,” he gasped out, and tried to pull her away again, but she ignored it a second time and stroked in a twisting motion over him, desperate to bring him all the way.  He gasped for breath twice and then went quiet for a scant moment before the lyrium markings flared white-blue and he was spilling his seed on her tongue, in her mouth, in hot spurts.  She gasped and gagged just slightly at the sudden intrusion, even expecting it as she was, before slipping her mouth off him and just stroking his shaft with her hand, swallowing sharply and wiping her mouth with her free hand.  Fenris lay back on the pillow, eyes screwed shut and breathing heavy, then opened first one eye, then the other and reached for her, pulling Hawke close to him in a tight embrace.

“You do not have to do such things,” he said, sounding distinctly out of breath.

“What such things?”

“… servicing me.  It is… you do not have to do it.”

“Fenris, I _want_ to.  You like doing it to me, right?”

“But I enjoy pleasuring you.” She laughed softly, huskily.

“I enjoy pleasuring you, too,” she told him, as his hand drifted down and over one slender hip and caressed over her thigh.

“Are you tired?” he asked, looking at her with such earnestness, pupils wide in his green, green eyes, she had to laugh softly again.

“I could stand to stay up for a little while longer,” she assured him.  The sly answering smile was enough to make her grin broadly in return and lay back as he shifted around, pushing her legs apart and settling between them.

Fenris’s fingers sought her entrance again, and he found her sopping, desperate to have him fill her up.  She arched her back and moaned as he did so, and brought his mouth down along the inside of first one thigh, then the other.  Her toes curled and her fingers found purchase in his hair and on one of her breasts when his tongue flicked over her nub.  She sighed a moan and slid her legs over his shoulders, earning herself an approving grunt from Fenris, who hooked his fingers inside of her and sucked softly on her clitoris.

With the fact that the door was only mostly closed, Hawke had to watch herself, to make sure she wasn’t being too loud so that the rest of the household did not hear them.  She found the task to be a difficult one, as Fenris was skilled with fingers and tongue, and enjoyed drawing out lusty sounds from across Hawke’s lips.  She twisted a nipple between her fingers and scraped her nails against his scalp, feeling her core begin to tense itself already.

“Yes,” she murmured, bucking her hips up towards his mouth when he began suckling on her clitoris.  “Your mouth… like that… Yes,” she hissed out, and ground her teeth together, finding her breathing coming in labored pants now, her heart speeding up.  She was close, with his fingers sliding in and out of her wetly, and his tongue and lips giving her most sensitive spot the best attention. 

A softly broken cry of pleasure escaped her lips and Fenris pushed his fingers into her harder, slid them out faster.  His mouth worked her nub slightly more roughly, lips suckling on it like they had done with her nipple, and his fingers dug into one hip, holding her down and in place as much as he could, between her twisting and writhing.

She gasped in once, and then again, and then a low moan escaped as her body tensed further.  Her legs worked to press against his head, holding him in place, and the muscles inside of her tightened over his fingers.  A flash of tension ran through Hawke’s body, and then a feeling of euphoric relief.  The hand that had been on his head pulled him down against her center and she bit down on her other hand sharply to keep from calling out and making any noise louder than she already was.  Fenris showed no sign of wanting to pull away, and she had to force herself to force him, murmuring about being too sensitive.

He slid his way up her body and pressed their lips together; she could taste herself on him, and the lingering taste of him mixed with herself was almost enough to bring her ready again.  Her body felt slightly sore, though, and aftershocks of orgasm pulsed through her lower half, so she simply held herself against him, eyes fluttering shut, while Fenris stroked her hair and settled down beside her, their bodies curling together.  Eventually, he pulled the blanket up over them, although Hawke was already half asleep, relaxed against him as she was.

Hawke murmured, sleepily, “Love you, Fenris.”  She was asleep before she heard his reply.

* * *

A week before the Satinalia party, Hawke began decorating the estate.

Decorating was something she had gotten used to, over the years.  She was usually the one doing the decorating, or supervising the decorating, of her homestead, and that was a duty that went back to childhood.  She could remember tree-trimming parties with her parents, when the twins were just old enough to participate.  Malcolm and Leandra sat back and watched as the children reached up as far as they could on the tree, placing ornaments that Leandra had helped them to make, and then Malcolm would place the big star at the top once they were done.  From that time on, Hawke had been the one in charge of making sure the tree got trimmed, and then, later, the rest of the decorations got placed. 

Of course, it was nothing in comparison to what she had to decorate now.  The estate, once she started hanging tinsel and placing decorations, was just too big, she decided, and half of it would just have to live without being decorated.  The first day, she managed to get the foyer done, and the second day she expanded into the library.  The third day came the living room, and the fourth day came the dining room. 

Fenris merely sat back and watched the decorating with an amused smile, and Bethy watched her mother climbing up and down ladders, hanging things up, with a look of wonderment; such a thing had never occurred in her entire life!  It caused no small amount of amusement on the part of her parents.

By the time all the decorating that was going to be done was actually finished, Orana had started with baking, and Hawke joined her there, leaving Bethy in Fenris’s surprisingly capable hands.  Three solid days of heating up the house by making pies, cookies, and cakes, and it was a good thing, too, as those three days saw the beginnings of the first snowfall of the year in Kirkwall. 

Fenris was too northern to truly appreciate the snow, but Bethy was half-Ferelden, for a given value of how Ferelden her mother actually was, and Hawke insisted that he take her outside to enjoy the fresh snowfall, before it inevitably fell prey to the habit of city snows and became gray mush within a day or so. 

By the time Satinalia arrived, Hawke’s presents had been properly wrapped and placed under the gigantic tree in the living room, and the house was festooned in silver and blue, with candles everywhere and boughs of tinsel draped from the ceilings.  The inside of the estate smelled like a forest, and Isabela had dropped by several times to install mistletoe everywhere she could reach.  Hawke joked that the other woman could have easily helped her in the decorating, but Isabela tended to do little that didn’t provide her with a payment, and nothing was worth, in her mind, climbing ladders to drape things all over that were only going to be removed in a few days.

The party was set to start fairly early, in part because she wanted to be assured that Bethy would be awake and in a good mood for some of it, so Hawke and her daughter took to getting dressed rather early, in matching dresses of a deep red velvet with green trim that flattered them both.  Hawke tried putting a hair ribbon into Bethy’s hair, but she failed there spectacularly, and Fenris had to remind her to watch her language several times, usually with a chuckle, while she made her valiant attempts. 

Merrill was the first to arrive, with Varric and Isabela on either arm, but she was followed soon thereafter by Carver.  Hawke never knew if Carver was going to show up or not, but she was grateful that he had, although it was strange to see him out of his templar uniform now, after so many years.  He immediately made a bee-line for Merrill and offered to get the little Dalish some punch, offering an elbow which Merrill took happily.  She did note, however, that Isabela soon joined them, and Hawke prayed that there would be no repeat of Carver’s name day “lap dance,” especially with the other guests who were arriving around.

Hawke had gone to the expense of hiring some musicians to play in the corner of the living room; two lutes, a flute player, and one playing some sort of drum that she was entirely unfamiliar with, but they made pleasant enough music and it was quite delightful to be spun around the living room in the arms of one partner or another, for a dance.  Fenris seemed to engage her more often than any others, and she didn’t miss the looks that the two of them received, nor did she miss the gossip about how she had rejected Pierre de Launcet and chosen _an elf_ instead.

Luckily, Pierre was there to help take some of the pressure off of Hawke.  He chatted amicably with everyone who was there, and especially with those who were gossping the loudest.  He was cordial with Hawke and her friends, and polite to Fenris, treating the elf like an actual equal.  That surely set even more tongues wagging, but Pierre simply grinned toothily and bowed to Hawke before seeking out one of his cousins for a dance.

“See?  He’s really not that bad,” Hawke murmured to Fenris, when they were alone for a moment.

“I suppose.  For a human.”

“ _I’m_ a human.  Bethy is, too.”

“You are exceptional,” Fenris replied, raking his eyes over her and smirking slightly.

“Are you drunk, serah?”

“Not yet.  Give me a few more hours and we’ll see what I can do.”  Hawke laughed and patted him on the arm, then turned to go find where Bethy had gotten off to when Isabela virtually skipped up to the pair of them and pointed up.  Hawke obligingly looked and groaned: mistletoe.  Of course.

“’Bela, Fenris doesn’t want to kiss me,” she said, chidingly.  “And you shouldn’t have put those up all over the place.”

“I’ll kiss you, sweet thing,” Isabela said, running her eyes over Hawke’s form and causing the mage to chuckle.

“No, you won’t,” Fenris growled, then pulled Hawke to him and slanted his mouth over hers in a deep and surprisingly greedy kiss.  Isabela whooped with delight and Hawke heard what she was certain was others clapping, but the kiss was over in only a moment and then she and Fenris were apart again.  His ears were bright red to their tips, and her cheeks, she knew, were dusted with a pink blush.

“You didn’t have to,” she started, looking down.

“I wanted to,” Fenris assured her, with a glance at Isabela.  “But we are hereby exempt from any other mistletoe activities, wench.”

“After that kiss, I’m surprised you don’t want to call an end to the party and get up to your room,” Isabela said, that pleased smirk on her lips.  “Of course, there are some closets around here…”

“Bela,” Hawke groaned, covering her eyes with the palm of one hand.

“Fine.  Spoilsports,” she grumped.  “Anyway, you were looking for the squirt, right?”  Fenris glanced at Hawke and mouthed the word “squirt.”  “Last time I saw her, Aveline had her in the library.  Might want to check there.”

“Thanks, ‘Bela,” Hawke said, and patted Fenris on one darkly clothed arm.  “I’m headed for the library.  See if there’s anything that Orana needs for me, please?”  He nodded once, the red still not having faded from his ears, and separated from Hawke while Hawke headed out to find her daughter.

Aveline, indeed, did have Bethy, and the woman looked as natural holding a ten-month-old child as she did holding her shield and sword.  Of course, by this time the Guard-Captain, whose ginger hair caught the candlelight and shone like sparkling gold, was well-used to being around Bethy, so perhaps the familiarity helped her there.  However, it was amusing to Hawke to stand, unobserved, for the moment, and watch Aveline make sweet cooing sounds and act the aunt.  Before Hawke could make her presence known to her friend, however, Donnic grabbed her elbow and pulled her into the foyer, where there were far less people.

“Hawke,” he said, getting straight to business as usual.  “I have a request I need to make of you.”

“What’s wrong, Donnic?” Hawke asked.

“I… Maker’s breath, I’m about to sound like ten kinds of fool here, but I… plan on proposing to Aveline tonight.”

Hawke gasped and clapped her hands together happily, the grin on her face infecting even Donnic, until he remembered himself.  “That’s wonderful, Donnic!” she exclaimed.

“I need to get her alone in your garden.  If… If you’ll help me, that is.”

“Of course I’ll help you,” she promised him, thinking of a dozen ways to ensure that there would be no one in the garden.  It was, she admitted to herself, a lovely spot, and there were lanterns that lit the area softly tonight, with snow coming down.  So romantic, she thought. 

“Thank the Maker,” Donnic breathed, and then fidgeted in a most uncharacteristic manner.  “I… so you get her out there, and alone, and I’ll… come out, and then… I don’t sound like an idiot, right?  Do you think she’ll say ‘yes’?”

“Oh absolutely,” Hawke breathed, resting her hand on his shoulder in, what she hoped, was a reassuring gesture.  “She’s smitten with you, Donnic!”

“Smitten… Good.  Yes.  I’ll just… be waiting in the dining room, then?”

“I need to find Fenris and have him watch Bethy first,” she said to him, quickly.  “I’ll have him come and get you when we’re ready.”

“Good.  Excellent.  Efficient,” Donnic replied, suddenly sounding hoarse.  He had taken on a somewhat paler cast to his face.

“It’ll be fine,” Hawke told him, with a laugh, and then set off to find Fenris.  Little surprise that her elf was off on his own, enjoying the (now spiked, courtesy of Isabela) punched a little too much.  She almost felt sorry for him; Fenris never did well at parties and large gatherings.  Once he told her they reminded him too much of life in Tevinter; Danarius was, apparently, much given to large parties.  He acted like he did not mind Hawke’s get-togethers so much, probably because their mutual friends were as likely to make up the majority of the guest list as the cream of Hightown was.

It only took a moment to explain what was going on, and then a few minutes more to make their way into the library, where Fenris took Bethy quickly and Hawke began ushering Aveline outside, saying there was something the Guard-Captain needed to see.  Aveline looked at her askance, but followed along, anyway.  She did seem to want to grasp for a sword that was not there (the gown Aveline was wearing was a lovely brown that did wonders for her coloring and would be very difficult to fight in otherwise.)

Once outside, Hawke shooed those who wished to loiter out in the cold and snow back inside, promising more punch and food and favors to those who couldn’t be tempted by either the food or drink.  At last, when she was alone with Aveline out in the cold, she shuffled her slippered feet and tried a disarming smile.

“So… nice night for an evening, yes?” she asked her friend, and Aveline winced at the repeat of the line she had used on Donnic during what was arguably their first “date.”

“Hawke,” she said, voice low in warning.  “If you dragged me out here to make me the butt of one of your jokes…”

“No, no.  Just… stay here, for a few moments.  Please?  I’ll make it up to you if anything bad happens.”  Hawke led her over to one of the benches that overlooked a relatively small pond, then pressed Aveline to sit on it.  For one thing, there was no view of the doorway there, which would be just perfect.

“For a few minutes,” Aveline agreed, sitting and brushing snowflakes off her skirts.  Hawke held up her finger in a gesture of “one moment” and then dashed off back inside the house, shivering at the change in atmosphere from “frigid” to “comfortable warmth” when she came inside.

She was looking for Donnic when she ran into Isabela and Varric, standing to the side and both a good couple of sheets to the wind.  Isabela tried to get Hawke to stop, but when she wouldn’t, the pirate followed in her wake, and Varric trailed along for the fun of it.

“I don’t have time, ‘Bela.  Have you seen Donnic?”

“Isn’t he with Captain Man-Hands?” Isabela drawled, then giggled.

“No, that’s the point.  I need to find Donnic.  He said he was going to be in the dining room but he’s not.”

“I think I saw him talking to Broody,” Varric added, helpfully.

“Oh, good,” Hawke said, and started off trying to find two missing men, Varric and Isabela in tow.  Before too long they were joined by Anders, who seemed somewhat bored and lonely, and then by Carver and Merrill, both of whom were obviously just trailing behind to see what mischief they could get into.

Hawke managed to lead her merry band of misfits into the foyer, where Donnic was pacing and Fenris was bouncing Bethy lightly in his arms.

“She’ll say yes, man, stop your pacing,” Fenris said, sounding as if he had said it before and was tired of reassurances.

“She’ll say yes if you’ll get out there,” Hawke agreed, and the heads of both Fenris and Donnic whipped around to look at her.  “Well?”

“Are you… are you _proposing_?  To _Big Girl_?” Isabela said, delighted.

“Not if I don’t get out there,” Donnic said, pushing past him.  Anders stopped him and pressed the drink he was holding into the other man’s hands. 

“For luck,” the mage said, and Donnic drank it down quickly.

“Cheers,” he said, before starting back out there again.

The group stood around for a moment, and it was as quiet as anywhere in the household was going to get.  Then Merrill squeaked, “Aren’t we going to go watch?!” and there was a rushing press as all of them, Fenris included, tried to be the first one to get out in the garden and catch the proposal.

Hawke, being most familiar with the path out to the garden, was first out, of course, and she managed to shush the rest of them, just catching sight of Donnic turning a curve towards where Aveline was (hopefully) still sitting.  She pressed her finger to her lips as the others spilled out behind her, and as one they hushed up giggling and chattering, following the mage in her creeping around the hedges, hoping that their footfalls in the snow didn’t crunch.  Fenris was right behind Hawke, holding on to Bethy.

“Hopefully this will not take long,” he whispered to Hawke.  “I think her nappyis wet.”

“Not me,” Hawke said, and Fenris grumbled softly at losing the age-old game.

By the time they managed to creep up enough that they could all see Aveline and Donnic, the guardsman had gone down on one knee and held Aveline’s hand in his, looking up at her adoringly.  The snow fell softly, landing on Aveline’s hair and lashes, and swirled by the wind around the skirts of her dress.  Hawke pressed her hand to her mouth and felt her eyes well up with tears; the two of them looked beautiful there together.  Her other hand reached out and grabbed for Fenris, trying valiantly to get him to look at the scene he was already looking upon.

Donnic stood up and Aveline threw her arms around his neck, raising up on her toes to kiss him passionately, and Hawke and her misfits had no choice but to cheer then.  The two guards broke apart, startled, initially, but the stern look Aveline put on her face didn’t match the sparkle of happiness in her eyes.

Isabela, Hawke, and Merrill rushed forward as one to congratulate Aveline, whose normally pale cheeks were flushed with cold and joy.  Isabela was busy making crude (and hilarious) suggestions for the honeymoon, while Merrill was cooing over the wedding itself, and Hawke was just there for her friend, happy with her happiness.

“You’ve got to let Sebastian officiate,” Hawke told her.  “He’ll be so put out if you don’t.”

“Officiate my wedding,” Aveline mused, half to herself.  “Hawke, thank you for helping to set this up.”

“It was my pleasure, Aveline.  I’m glad to see you so happy.  Now let’s all get back inside so we can not freeze to death, alright?”

Merrill looped her arm through Hawke’s as they went back inside, and squeezed herself against her taller human friend slightly.  “Hawke, this has been a wonderful evening.  You are such a good friend to all of us.  I don’t even know how to thank you.”  She wiped away tears from her eyes quickly.  “Oh, look at me, getting all sentimental.  I’m babbling again.”

“You should get Carver under some mistletoe,” Hawke told her.  “I know Isabela set some up going into the library.”

“You think he’d kiss me?  In front of all these people?” Merrill asked, sounding somewhat taken aback.

“Why not?” Hawke laughed, and squeezed her arm.  “It’s a magical enough night for all of us, isn’t it? Go ahead and give it a try.”

The rest of the evening went as smoothly as the beginning.  Once the guests left, Hawke and her crew were able to do their present exchange, and it was the early hours of the morning before everyone else either left or had bunked down in guest rooms (or, in Carver’s case, his own bedroom, with Merrill and Isabela, _again_ ) and Hawke and Fenris were curled up in her bed, under blankets and happily holding each other.

She sighed and nuzzled his cheek with her lips, earning herself a contented, lazy sort of growl from Fenris, who held her tightly against himself with both arms.

“It was a good night,” she said, quietly.

“It was.  I am happy for Donnic and Aveline.”

“Oh, it’s going to be so much fun! Planning a wedding and all that.”

“You wouldn’t have more fun planning your own wedding?” he asked her, all seriousness behind a light-sounding façade. 

“I think I’ll enjoy helping Aveline plan her wedding first,” she told him, also all seriousness.  “You’d have to ask me again once that’s been pulled off without a hitch.”

“Nothing goes off without a hitch, Marian.  Even you know that.”

“Still.  I think there’s too much on all our plates to be planning two weddings.  And the wedding of the Guard-Captain should take precedent right now.  We’ll see how things turn out after that.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Enough of one to go by.  Now kiss me goodnight, serah,” she told him.  And so he did.  Eventually.


	29. ABCDEFG, Chantry School for You and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris disagree about Chantry School. Aveline settles an important question. Someone tries to recruit Hawke, much to Fenris's chagrin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for it being literally a month since the last chapter. I just can't seem to get it together, mental-health wise or physical-health wise. Just please be assured that I have plans to finish this fic (it should go to 40 chapters) and I've got everything outlined. It's just a matter to do the whole "feeling good" + "time" + "kids not demanding attention" equation and it come up something promising. My muse also keeps running off.
> 
> Also, this chapter is awful, but I finally managed to get it to come together. I wrote it in three separate, non-congruent parts, which I haven't done with this fic before. Getting them to work together took some effort and some transitions, but... hopefully it's not too bad. And I'm already at work on chapter 30! So hopefully it won't be a month before the next chapter is finished. Enjoy!

“She is an infant.”

“She’s eleven months old.  She’ll be one year next week.  If any of our friends had children, she’d be playing with them.  But for now, she’ll have to settle with Chantry School.”

“And what if she suddenly demonstrates magic in front of the other children?”

“Then we’ll figure something out, of course.  But my decision has been made, Fenris; I’m taking her to Chantry School and that’s that.”  Hawke furrowed her brow at him and frowned deeply.  When she had first thought of the idea of taking Bethy to the small Chantry School gatherings, she thought it would be met with approval on his part.  Bethy was a month shy of a year old, already walking and talking.  It wasn’t _healthy_ for a growing child to only be around people whose primary form of employment came in the _exhuming_ of others, and it wasn’t healthy for her to spend most of her time around her mother and father, who had to scrub the blood off their leathers and out of their robes, and take special care to get it out from under nails.

Why she was being met with such resistance confused Hawke; Fenris should know better about such things.  He wanted Bethy to have a normal childhood, after all; they had talked about that part several times.  Perhaps even a sibling, in a few years, although Hawke was more than wary about that idea, considering the difficulty in getting away with having Bethy in the first place.  So why he would object to something as simple as toddler Chantry School was beyond her.

Fenris scowled and ducked his head down, letting his bangs hide his eyes as he was wont to do.  He shuffled his bare feet slightly and glanced over in the direction of Bethy, who was sitting on the floor and playing with her Chauncey bear and several blocks that were too large to be swallowed.

“Fenris, really, it’ll be okay,” Hawke said, cajolingly.  “Most mages don’t show their power until they’re nearly teenagers, anyway.  Her going to Chantry School for a few years as a toddler really means that there will be some stories read from children’s books, and they’ll sing some songs and play with some toys.  But most importantly, she’ll be around other children her own age.  And we, or, rather, I, won’t have to spend time socializing with their parents in order for the children to play.”

“Perhaps…” he started, then sighed, his shoulders sagging.  “Perhaps I am being over-protective.”  Hawke was certain he was being over-protective, but it was a start.  She reached out and grasped the hand with the newly ribbon-wrapped wrist and gave him a brilliant smile.

“I think you are.  It’s one reason you’re such a good daddy.”  He winced slightly and refused to look at her still, but his shoulders straightened a little more.  She squeezed his hand a little bit.  “But we have to remember that sometimes we have to get out of our comfort zones with Bethy, and this will be one of those times.  She’ll be safe there, and she’ll… probably not make friends, considering she’s not yet a year old, but she’ll have fun and play with blocks, and it’ll give the lay sisters something fun to do for a couple of hours a few times per week.”

A tentative squeeze of her hand told Hawke that she was forgiven, as far as any row between them went.  “I understand,” Fenris drawled, in that deep voice.  His fingers traced over the palm of her right hand and he tilted his head up slightly to regard Hawke with green, green eyes.  “But should anything go wrong…”

“You can blame me,” Hawke replied, and leaned forward to place a quick kiss on his cheek that brought out a brilliant scarlet blush to his dark skin.  She smiled at him again and he smiled back this time before bringing his attention back to where Bethy was pushing herself to standing using the low table that rested in front of the sofa.

Watching Bethy do all the new things that she _could_ do was nothing short of amazing to Hawke, and Fenris had voiced several times that he found amazement in it as well.  She was talking, where only a few months ago she could only communicate through cries.  She was walking, albeit unsteadily, whereas only a few months ago she was barely crawling.  She was playing with toys, and showed preferences for foods, toys, people, stories, songs; everything that could have a preference, Bethy had one.  It was difficult, sometimes, to reconcile the infant she had held at her breast nearly a year ago with the toddler who made such messes in her study, but Hawke found herself doing so several times a day.

“I’ll get her signed up this week,” Hawke said, quietly.  Fenris did not reply.  “And she can start next week.  Everything will be fine,” she promised.  “But we need to get started planning her birthday next month.”

“Do you truly think she’s going to be aware that it is her birthday, Marian?” Fenris asked, in a flat, yet amused, tone.  Hawke stuck her tongue out at the elf, an action which was met with a smirk.

“I think it’s up to us to throw her the best birthday party we can,” she argued, flopping down onto the sofa and putting her feet up on the low table before it.  Fenris leaned casually against the closer of the two armchairs and crossed his arms.

“I may not know much about children, but I’ve heard that birthday parties for one this age are for the parents, not the child.”

“That’s as may be,” Hawke said, crossing her fingers over her stomach and crossing her legs at the ankle; she wiggled a slippered foot and Bethany stood and tried to catch it, laughing shrilly.  “But still, I have to remember that I do have a place in society and I do have to throw get togethers and… and…. Shindigs and the like, whether we want me to do it or not.”

“Are you planning on this being a large gala, then?” Fenris asked, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.  Hawke rolled her eyes at him and blew an errant strand of hair out of her face.

“That’s what we’re talking about now, isn’t it?” she asked him.

“Hmm.  Perhaps something intimate, with just our friends, then.”

“And all the rum that ‘Bela can sneak in?”

Fenris shrugged slightly.  “I am partial to the rum, I’ll admit that.”

“This is part of the reason I want her in Chantry School.  That way, there will be other kids her age around for her next birthday, and we’re not left wondering which of our friends we can invite who will have the least bad influence on her.”

“Bad influence on whom, Hawke?” Aveline asked, tromping into the library, Guard-Captain plate mail clanking.

“Maker, Aveline!  Give a woman a fright.  No, we’re just talking about Bethy’s first birthday party.”

“It’s a bit cold for any fancy stuff,” Aveline said, folding her arms under her breasts.  “And it’s not like she’s going to remember this, or get anything out of it other than a bit of cake and a new doll.”  Hawke glared at her, and then included Fenris in the glare, for good measure, when he looked too pleased with the fact that Aveline had unwittingly taken his side.

“We… may… just keep it small, then,” Hawke said, deflating somewhat.  After all the parties she’d been to over the season, it wasn’t like she was truly in the mood to throw a large party right after Wintersend, anyway.  That was going to be quite enough to be going on with. 

“Good.  Now that that’s settled,” Aveline said, moving smoothly into her next topic.  Fenris, sensing a lack of need of his presence, scooped up Bethy and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then carried her out of the room for, Hawke desperately hoped, a diaper change.  It was his turn, anyway.  “I’m getting married, Hawke.”

“I know, Aveline.  I was there when Donnic proposed,” she teased.

“But that means I have to plan a wedding.  And you seem like the type of woman who knows how to plan things, given how many parties you’ve been throwing.  I was….”  Aveline blushed, rosy under her freckles, and Hawke bit her tongue to stop from saying anything smart.  If Aveline was being shy about this, she’d best not tease her friend.

“You want my help, then?”

“Maker, yes,” Aveline breathed out. 

“Well, when did you want to have the ceremony?”

“I was thinking… is Summerday too cliché, do you think?”

“Oh, a summer bride!”  Hawke clapped her hands and sat up, smiling brilliantly.  “Oh Aveline, those colors are going to look just beautiful on you!

“So you don’t mind helping?” Aveline asked, sounding just a little bit less unsure of herself.

“Maker’s breath, it’d be an honor.  Now… let’s see….”

* * *

The pounding on the wall beside her door wouldn’t stop.  Hawke sat up, groggily, and blinked, looking around.  Fenris was already standing beside the bed, glowing blue-white from the lyrium markings, but there didn’t seem to be any sort of immediate danger so Hawke slipped out of bed and padded to the nearly-closed door, Fenris on her heels; on the way there, she held open her hand and summoned a white-blue ball of light that somehow seemed to echo Fenris’s markings.

“Anders?” she asked, surprised.  He was standing there, before her door, fist raised to pound on the wall again.  In the nursery, she could hear Bethy stirring, and she gave Anders an irritated look that was nothing on the scathing expression Fenris had on for the mage.

“Hawke, I’m so sorry to wake you up, but the templars—“

“Templars! Maker’s breath, here?” she asked, stopping in the hallway, eyes going wide and reaching a hand out to grasp Anders’s arm. 

“In Darktown.  I don’t know if they raided the clinic, but one of the urchins I helped a few weeks back came and woke me up at the clinic, said the templars were raiding Darktown and looking for a mage matching my description.”  Anders ran his fingers through disheveled hair, his brown eyes slightly wild with fear.

“I’m surprised he didn’t want to make a bit of coin for turning you in,” Fenris growled, pushing past Anders roughly on his way to the nursery, where distinct talking sounds told Hawke that Bethy was, indeed, awake.

“They’re not going to turn on the Healer,” Anders grumbled to himself, voice low, then shook his head.  “Anyway, I used the key to the cellar, and I put up some wards to keep them out, just in case they did follow.  I don’t think many people know that the cellar entrance even exists, Hawke, but I’m not taking any chances.”

“That’s fine, Anders.  That’s why I gave you the key: in case you needed to escape and needed somewhere to be safe.  We’ll get you all settled up in a room no problem.”  She gave him a tight smile, which he returned with a relieved one.

“The mage is going to stay here?” Fenris asked, carrying Bethy out of the nursery.  He did not sound best pleased, either to be awakened or to be dealing with Anders.

“It’s not forever, Fenris,” Hawke said, soothingly, and she held her arms open to take Bethy from him.  The child, sleep still in her eyes, yawned and reached for her mother, then settled her head upon Hawke’s chest and started drowsily toying with a strand of hair.

“That mage brings danger, Hawke,” Fenris said, scathingly.

“The only danger here is the templars, and they could come for Hawke at any day, anyway,” Anders interjected.  Fenris shot him a dark look and flared his markings slightly, and Hawke sighed and patted Bethy on the back gently.  Bethy gurgled and made cooing sounds, and Hawke was fairly certain the child was about to fall back asleep, if the two men would only keep their voices down.

“Boys, let’s not fight about this tonight, alright?  Anders, you can sleep in your usual room.  Fenris, no arguing about it, if you please.”  Fenris looked down, sullen, and Anders looked like he was about to crow.  Hawke sighed again.  “We’ll discuss this more in the morning.  Or later in the morning, at least.  I’m sure Bodahn heard the banging, but I’ll leave him a note anyway and let him know you’re here and to set out breakfast enough for all of us.”  Bethy yawned and Hawke nudged her way past the two men on her way to the nursery.  “Now, back to bed, everyone.”

She was thankful that Bethy was so eager to go back down to sleep, but Hawke herself was too awake to settle back to sleep immediately.  Instead, she jotted off a quick note for Bodahn, and then she grabbed a book on her end table and settled into the rocking chair in Bethy’s room, keeping her magelight lit so she could read by.  Fenris, she knew, was awake in her room, but she didn’t feel like going back in there and having a conversation about why Anders should not be allowed in the house.  Hawke had counted on such a situation happening, which is why he was given the key.  Templars weren’t going to try taking _her_ in, what with her Champion status and all, so Anders was safest in her home.  It was simply too bad that Fenris did not see it that way.

When she found herself reading the same sentence over and over, Hawke sighed and glanced over to where Bethy was in the crib, assuring herself that the child was still sleeping.  There was nothing for it but to try to go to bed and get some sleep.  Luckily, Fenris had already gone back to sleep when Hawke crept into her room, so that was one argument that would be avoided until the morning.

And indeed, when she woke up later that morning, Fenris was already awake and dressed and ready to press her on the topic.  He had seen to Bethy, which was a blessing, but Hawke did not particularly feel like discussing the finer points of the mage/templar tensions with Fenris first thing in the morning, when the man was irritated and upset (and, possibly, feeling threatened; he certainly couldn’t have been happy to have templars sniffing around, Hawke had to admit to herself.  They may not have a formal relationship, or any sort of legal binding, but she and Bethy were his only family and the prospect of losing said family would be frightening and upsetting for him.  That was something that she could speculate on in the cold light of day, however) but discuss things they did, including Hawke telling him, in no uncertain terms, that Anders _was_ welcome to come to her house, although perhaps it was best if he didn’t bang on the wall beside her door in order to wake her up.

Anders was still sleeping in; he was much like a cat in that regard, where, once he got someplace safe to sleep, he’d sleep long past when he would normally be up because it was _finally safe to sleep_.  Fenris, in a fit of pique, said he would be at his mansion for the rest of the day and that, should Hawke have need of him, she would find him there.  All she could do is sigh and remind him to come get lunch, should he feel hungry later on, and kiss him awkwardly on the cheek (as awkward for him as it was for her, she was willing to bet, but at least the gesture was made, and sometimes the gesture being made was all that was important.) 

The day looked as if it were going to be a trial, and it certainly was.  She made the discovery that Bethy was cutting a new tooth, which made her gums sore and which had the child in a fine temper most of the day.  Everything she tried to do seemed to go wrong; catching up on correspondence seemed ridiculously hard, as everything she was writing turned out poorly-worded, indeed. 

When Anders finally got up, he wanted to talk to Hawke about the Mage Underground and “mage rights or mage fights!” but Hawke was feeling out of sorts and had little temper to discuss the matter with him.  Her personal philosophy about magic, mages, and the Circles fell somewhere in the middle of Fenris and Anders: mages needed a safe place to study and learn magic, but they needed to be treated as people and not dangerous weapons while they’re there.  They need options to have families and go traveling, but Tevinter took it too far.  And so she was generally caught in the middle of their arguments, trying to appease both of them when she truly just wanted them both to be quiet and stop going on about the entire thing.

By the time dinner rolled around, Fenris had not returned to the estate and between Hawke’s nerves and her increasingly upset stomach, she was feeling disinclined to eating.  However, she insisted that Anders eat, and she fed Bethy, giving her a longer bath than normal afterwards, mainly to let the child splash around in the warm water and have a bit of fun.  Fenris came in then, which was a relief for Hawke, although she could smell the wine on his breath.  Could the man not go without drinking when the two of them had a disagreement?  Hawke bit her tongue, but she sorely wanted to lay into him about drinking too much.

Her stomach cramps had not abated any by the time she crawled into bed, and she was surprised Fenris accompanied her as if nothing were wrong.  Everything was wrong!  His stupid face was wrong, couldn’t he tell?  He leaned to give her a kiss on her forehead and she grumbled and pulled away, tucking herself into a sort of blanket cocoon and falling asleep quickly.

Waking up the next day explained many things.

For one, it explained why Hawke’s stomach had been feeling so poorly the day before.  It also explained the odd grumpiness the normally convivial Hawke was demonstrating.

“Just bloody great,” she muttered, peeling the blanket and sheet away to find herself covered in sticky blood.  Fenris woke up to her voice and turned over, eyes blinking blearily, to ask her what was wrong, when he, too, noticed the blood.

“Marian, are you hurt?” he exclaimed, sitting up and grabbing her by the shoulders.  “What happened?”  He practically dragged her off the bed, and Hawke pushed him away gently and started peeling off her nightgown and smalls while Fenris shot off a barrage of questions, mostly revolving around her health.

“I’m fine, Fenris.  It’s just my monthly courses.”

“Your… monthly… courses?”

She had to laugh at that, although it was a touch bitter.  “You’ve gotten to live with a woman and miss the best part,” she said, and then explained, in the easiest terms she could think of, exactly what was going on.  “Now go take care of Bethy while I wash up.  Maker’s breath…”

At least, she thought, as she filled the tub with ice and melted it quickly with fire, the resultant water hotter than she normally liked it but ridiculously comfortable now, at least she knew why she was in such a foul mood the day before, and why she felt like she wanted to kill Anders, especially, and Fenris, at times.  In fact, the starting up of her courses again was something of a relief because it meant, for certain, that she wasn’t pregnant.  She wasn’t sure if she was or not, considering some of Fenris’s recent non-Anders related actions, but this sealed the deal.  And she should probably go visit with Anders and have him examine her soon, although she could do it just as well herself.  If the mage was downstairs, maybe she’d have him do a quick Delving and just check up on her, make sure she was alright.

Downstairs, Fenris was feeding Bethy and looking just faintly pale while he was doing so.  “You’re okay, Fenris?” Hawke asked him, sitting down in one of the chairs beside him.

“I… was not expecting such a thing,” he said.  “It was a bit of a shock.  And women live with this?  No wonder you kill so many people.”

“Hey,” she said, smacking his arm playfully and winning herself a slight smile on his behalf. 

“But we should expect to kill more people in the foreseeable future,” Fenris ventured.

“Probably,” Hawke agreed.

A scruffy and shirtless Anders appeared in the dining room a moment later, earning a look of scorn from Fenris and a sigh and an eyeroll from Hawke.  The mage was, apparently, unaware of the general atmosphere of disapproval in his state of undress, and Hawke was disinclined to start anything further.

“Anders,” she said, instead, after the mage had settled himself with a bowl of porridge and some bacon, “I’ve started my courses again.”

“You sure know how to have breakfasttime conversations,” Anders muttered, and Fenris grumbled something about “shirtless mages at the breakfast table.”  Before it could get any further, Hawke continued.

“I was hoping you’d do a quick examination of me and make sure I’m okay.  It seems awfully long to go without them.”

“I can do a quick Delving now,” Anders said, and placed his hand on her forehead.  His eyes were half-closed in concentration, and he glowed blue, just slightly, from the Healing effort.  “Fine.  Everything seems just fine,” he said, with a smile, once he was finished.

“I thought so, but it’s nice to get a second opinion,” Hawke said, settling back and sharing a smile with Fenris.  Bethy grabbed the spoon with the oatmeal and wrestled it away, flinging it so the oatmeal landed squarely in Anders’s hair.  Hawke couldn’t help but laugh, and even Fenris chuckled.  Anders grumbled slightly, and Bethy squealed her laughter.

“Sorry, Anders,” Hawke said, after her laughter had settled.  “Breakfasts around here can be rather messy.”

“So I’m gathering,” he replied, with a good-natured smile, as he tried to get the oatmeal out of his hair.

“How long will you be staying here, mage?” Fenris asked, his voice a growl of impatience.  Hawke shot him a look which he refused to see, and Anders rolled his eyes.

“Hawke said I could stay here.  If that’s changed—“

“And it has not,” Hawke said, pointedly.

“If it’s changed, I’ll find somewhere else to use as a bolt-hole, but for now, I’ll be staying here a few days.”  Fenris mouthed “a few days” as if he were deep in thought, and his inattention earned him a scolding from Bethy.  Hawke shooed Fenris from the chair beside Bethy’s special chair and took over the feeding, while Fenris set to eating his own breakfast.

“You can stay as long as you need to, Anders, you know that,” Hawke said.  She hated that it made Fenris upset, and if it weren’t for Bethy she’d happily stay with him in his mansion when Anders needed to stay at her estate, but they couldn’t do that, not with a child; Maker’s mercy, there were still corpses littering the front hallways of the place.  Not exactly a place they could bring a child, and not a place that Hawke would consent to bringing their child.

Hero came and lay at Hawke’s feet, begging surreptitiously for a piece of her bacon, and with an indulgent smile, Hawke dropped one down at her feet.  Hero inhaled it, which earned a laugh from Bethy again; the child was in a good mood, Hawke was happy to see.

“I appreciate that, Hawke,” Anders said, giving up on ridding his hair of the oatmeal and, instead, settling in to finish off his breakfast.  “But we can still look and see if we can’t find someplace else, if we need to.”

“We need to set up some good wards down there, is what we need to do.  Mark them so only you or I can get through.  I can probably tie them in to the key as well, so that you have to know the spell combination as well as having the key in order to get in through the cellar.”

“That’s brilliant,” Anders said.  “We can work on that today, if you’ve no other plans.”

“No plans until tonight.  Varric needs to meet me tonight in the Hightown market square for something.  One of his contacts needs to pass along a message or something like that.  It’s all very cloak-and-dagger and mysterious.”

“I will be going with you, of course,” Fenris said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Yes, of course you will.  Can’t leave my favorite warrior behind, now can I?”

“I’m your only warrior,” Fenris snorted.

“That’s not true.  There’s Aveline.”

“I’m your only warrior who won’t lecture you about things that are quasi-legal.” 

“Point.  Taken,” Hawke said, affecting a grin.  “So, other than tonight, I should be free most of the day.  Did you need anything today, Fenris?”

“No.  I was planning on spending the day with you, if you allowed it,” Fenris said.  “You and Bethy.”

“Well, if you don’t mind hanging around up here with Bethy for an hour or so…?”

He sighed, but said, “You know I do not.”

“Then it’s all settled,” Hawke told Anders, and reached over to pat his hand.  “We’ll get the security beefed up there in no time.”

Indeed, after breakfast, Hawke led Anders down through the labyrinthine cellars until they came out near the entrance to his clinic in Darktown.  He took a moment to check the doors, to make sure they hadn’t been forced, and then he and Hawke took their time slowly laying out wards that would, hopefully, be visible to their eyes only.  She attuned the first ward to the keys to the cellar, and then set up a secret place for Anders to touch at the door that went into the vaults and upper cellars.  The lower cellars were perfect for storing things you never really wanted to see again, while the upper cellars were better used for food storage.  Hawke also planned on turning one of the small rooms into a bedroom especially for Anders, so that he wouldn’t feel the need to come wake the entire household up by entering the house proper when he needed to get away from Darktown.

She discussed that topic with him, in fact, and Anders was delighted at having a mostly rodent-free area to sleep in.  She promised to see to getting him a bed and a wardrobe, as well as some new bedding, and once they were done setting up the wards she helped him pick out the room he wanted to use.  They scrounged up some tarnished candlesticks and a small side table from the things that had been “stored” in the lower cellars, and once they made their way back up to the main floor, Hawke sent Bodahn out with instructions on purchasing a bed, mattress, some bedding, a chamberpot, and a smallish wardrobe, to be delivered in the next two to three days, if possible.  Bodahn, used to placing orders for odd things for his mistress, did not so much as blink an eye at the list of requests.

Anders excused himself, once they were finished, to the room he had been sleeping in, the better to work on his manifesto in peace.  Hawke cajoled Fenris into taking a walk with her up to the Chantry, Bethy being toted along, so that she could see to signing the child up for Chantry School, as they had discussed. It had been meant to be done the day before, but seeing as events curtailed Hawke’s plans, best they do it today.

It gave Hawke an excuse to see Sebastian, someone they didn’t actually see or work with very often.  The not-quite-a-Brother seemed pleased to see the three of them, and was delighted that Bethy was going to start with Chantry School play classes.  He escorted them over to where the lay sisters who worked with the children were; most worked with the many orphans that were left behind in Kirkwall, but some of them taught the Chantry School classes, and Sister Stella was the one who was in charge of the youngest class.

“Twice a week, an hour each time.  I don’t do their nappies and I don’t feed ‘em, so you’ll need to take care of that your own self,” Sister Stella said.  “They play with blocks, mainly, and I read to ‘em a bit.  It’s mainly to get them socialized and out of their parents’ hair for a little bit.  But don’t worry, Champion, little Bethany will be safe and sound here with us.”

“Aye, Hawke, there’s no need to worry about Bethy’s safety here at the Chantry,” Sebastian added, patting her on the arm comfortingly.  Hawke stifled a giggle; they should be comforting Fenris, rather than herself.

After goodbyes were said, and a promise to return with an alarmingly large donation for the Chantry for Chantry School services (which Hawke was certain was only laid upon her because of her position) she brought Fenris and Bethy back home for lunch and naps.  She and Fenris had tonight to prepare for, and neither of them could be certain it wouldn’t involve fighting.  They needed to be well-rested in case it was an ambush.

* * *

“It’s an ambush.”

“It’s not _always_ an ambush,” Varric countered, rubbing his chin.  It was well after midnight and they were in the middle of the Hightown Market. 

“An ambush,” Hawke repeated, sounding bored.  She checked her staff on her back and shared a glance with Fenris, who shifted his shoulders slightly, checking that his own weapon was secured.  Nearby, Isabela was leaning against one of the many columns scattered throughout the market, nonchalantly cleaning her nails with one of her daggers and appearing as bored as Hawke felt.  She could have been at home, in bed, probably with Fenris.  Instead, she got talked into meeting some contact of Varric’s out in the bloody market after midnight.

“You’re just saying it’s not an ambush so that we keep following along in your schemes, Varric,” Isabela said, the boredom clear in her tone.  She straightened up and flipped the dagger around in her palm.  “Really, I could be drinking or over at the Rose right now.”

“It’s not always an ambush—“ Varric began, as two men dropped down from the roofing tiles, followed shortly by several dark shapes melting out of the shadows. 

As one, Hawke, Fenris, and Isabela glanced at Varric, who sighed and raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender.  “Alright, sometimes it’s an ambush.”  He hefted Bianca onto his shoulder and took aim with her while Fenris drew his sword and Hawke swung her staff from off her back and around in an arc.  It was dark enough in the market square that she would have to be extra careful where she slung her magic, so as not to hit her allies.

One man, unmasked, unlike the others, approached where the four of them were waiting, weapons drawn.  He smirked and said, in a heavy, Antivan accent, “And here is the Champion of Kirkwall. You die today.”  Fenris flared blue as he activated his lyrium markings, and Hawke gathered in her mana; she didn’t need someone telling her twice that she was going to die before she took them for an enemy.

Before any of the four of them could make an aggressive move, however, a throwing knife bloomed in the man’s chest and he gasped, reaching for it.  Another throwing knife bloomed between his eyes, and Hawke glanced up, in the direction of the unforeseen assistance.   It was dark enough that she caught only the vague impression of someone dressed in green leathers, some floaty red hair, and more daggers, before their unknown benefactor launched themselves from the spot up on the roof of a nearby building, throwing knives left and right as they did so. 

Before Hawke, Fenris, Varric, or Isabela could make a move, the unknown person –who was, apparently, a female elf, Hawke noted, once the woman was close enough to make out such details—became a veritable whirlwind of death, using hands, feet, and knives to take out several of those who were standing around, weapons drawn.  In fact, Hawke felt rather at a loss as to how to proceed, considering the woman seemed capable of taking out the attackers all on her own.  She even made some creative use of newly-deceased bodies, blocking arrows and bolts from attackers who were aiming from upon the roofs, themselves.  Hawke had to admit it; she was impressed.  And wondering if she shouldn’t get her crew out of there; apparently, they had stepped into the middle of two groups of assassins and, sometimes, it was better to step away quietly and not draw attention to oneself.  Although, apparently, one of these groups was looking for her anyway.

Before she had time to formulate an escape plan more thoroughly, however, the elf woman turned to her and, with a cheeky grin, said, “Well?  What are you waiting for?”  She sounded breathless and almost flirty, which caused Hawke to bark a soft laugh.  The elf woman turned back into the fray and was quickly followed by Isabela; Hawke noted that Varric was getting off bolts from Bianca, and Fenris was ghosting around the market square, although staying fairly close to Hawke, as was his custom now. 

With the five of them fighting, and competent fighters, all, the rest of the fracas was over fairly quickly.  Hawke hadn’t even been injured, which was a rarity for her.  Bodies littered the market square, and Hawke, with a sigh, realized that she was going to have to be up early to explain to Aveline exactly what happened.  Why was it always up to her?

“Sloppy,” the stranger said, rising up from where she was examining one of the bodies.  “You’d think the Crows would be better at this.  They’ve been doing it for ages.”

“Were these Crows a gift from you?  That’s generous,” Hawke said, sarcastically.

“Oh.  I didn’t arrange this, but it’s no coincidence that I’m here,” the woman said.  Hawke exchanged a look with Varric, who shrugged.  Isabela was busy looting the bodies and Fenris was at Hawke’s side, blade still drawn and ready to attack if need be.  “My name is Tallis,” the woman continued, curtseying slightly.  It looked odd, with her wearing leather trousers.  “And I’ve been looking for you.”  Hawke arched a brow.

“Looking for _me_?” she asked, incredulously.

“Looking for the woman who has an invitation to Chateau Haine, to be more specific.”  Why did that sound familiar?  Hawke furrowed her brow in thought.

“From that Orlesian Duke.  Prosper, his name was,” Varric told her, reading her confusion.  “He wouldn’t leave you alone at the Champion’s ball.”  Try as she might, Hawke could not conjure his image to her mind.  “So that’s what Edge was on about.  A hunt, at this Chateau Haine.”

“A hunt?  I doubt I’d go to such a thing,” she replied.

“I’m hoping you’d reconsider.  The Duke is a delightful host, or so I hear.”

“So I’m guessing this isn’t just a social call,” Hawke said.

“I need to relieve him of something he has no right to possess,” Tallis said, turning her back slightly and looking away from Hawke.  Isabela just happened to be looting the bodies closest to her and was doing it suspiciously slowly.  “I can’t do it alone.”

“What makes you think I can do it?  I’m no thief,” Hawke said, with a snort of derision.

“Stealing from Orlesians is never wrong.  Or so I’ve been told,” Varric quipped.  It was obvious that his interest was piqued, but Hawke’s was quickly waning.  She had no desire to be caught up in whatever mess this woman wanted her in.

“This isn’t how I was planning to ask you this,” Tallis said.  “I was planning an introduction with… well, less blood and fewer dead Crows, for one thing.”

“And what would make you think I steal things just because random people ask me to?” Hawke asked, leaning on her staff slightly.  To her side, Fenris shifted, relaxing his markings but not putting his blade away.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him watching the perimeter.  Smart man.

“I would,” Isabela chirped from where she was kneeling next to a particularly dead Crow.

“Well, of course _you_ would,” Hawke countered.

“I… may have been talking you up a bit,” Varric said, sheepishly. “Maybe… more than once?”

“Bloody wonderful, that is,” Hawke said, a scowl touching her lips.  “Varric, we’ve talked about you talking… er… about me.”

“Would you rather I go around telling everyone you’re a mage?”

“I doubt there’s anyone in the Free Marches who doesn’t know she’s a mage by now,” Fenris said, irritably, shifting his sword from one hand to the other.

“All I’ve heard is that you can get things done, and I’m hoping that’s true,” Tallis said, sounding so earnest that Hawke believed her.

“So, what exactly is it you want to steal?” Hawke asked.

“A… jewel,” Tallis replied, so evasively that Hawke was immediately on her guard.

“This jewel must be worth a great deal of money,” Hawke said.

“It’s something that the Duke doesn’t need to have, and it is valuable, just not the way the Duke thinks it is.  It’s something he shouldn’t have in the first place.  He who wishes to walk on water must first learn to swim.”  At Hawke’s puzzled look, she continued, “I just need to relieve him of it.  In, out, pretty simple.  Come with me to Chateau Haine.  I’ll explain everything on the way.  If nothing else, you’ll get some fine wine and fancy company.”

Hawke was already disinclined to accept the job, but Fenris’s hand on her arm made her glance over towards him.  His expression was as serious as she’d ever seen, and the quick shake of his head, causing the silvery-white locks to brush against his ears, was more than she needed.  She would not do this thing.

“I’m sorry, Tallis,” she said, turning back to the woman.  “I don’t think this is something I can do.”

“But I need _you_ , Hawke,” she said, eyes widening in alarm.  Apparently, she didn’t believe that her plea would be answered with a “no.”

“She said no, woman,” Fenris replied, with a growl.  “She’s the Champion of Kirkwall, not some thief for hire.”

“I’ll do it,” Isabela chimed in, and at Hawke’s incredulous look, she shrugged and grinned.  “I passed for you once already, I can do it again.”

“She _is_ a better thief than I’d ever be,” Hawke said, to Tallis.  “Are you sure you’d want to do this, ‘Bela?”

“What, get a free trip to Orlais, some food, and a chance to steal from a rich noble prick?  Any day, sweet thing.”  Tallis laughed, and Varric chuckled.  Hawke smiled, but Fenris maintained his stony demeanor; he would not be happy until he and Hawke were back at her estate and this night was well behind them, she knew from experience.

“Rivaini won’t go alone. I’ll go with her.  And we can bring Daisy, too.”

“Are you sure about this, Varric? ‘Bela?  If you guys have any doubts…”

“Leave it to us, Hawke,” Varric replied, soothingly.

“If I can’t have the Champion of Kirkwall, then I guess I’ll have the next best thing: her crew,” Tallis said, hiding her disappointment well. 

“’Bela will pass as me well enough to get you into Chateau Haine, I suspect,” Hawke told her.  “But it’s getting late now.  Perhaps we can make arrangements tomorrow?”

“I was hoping we could set out tonight, actually,” Tallis said.

“No.  Tomorrow.  After arrangements have been made.  I won’t have my crew going off without some sort of protection.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Tallis acquiesced.  “It’s been a pleasure, Champion.”  With another curtsey, she backed away from where they were gathered and then stealthily blended into the night around her.

Hawke turned to Isabela.  “So.  Masquerading as me again.  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do?”

“Hawke, there are so many things you wouldn’t do, you’d spoil all my fun if I followed that philosophy.”

“Well, just don’t catch anything from the Orlesians, then,” Hawke said, wrinkling her nose.

“I’ll keep her safe, Hawke,” Varric said.  “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get out of town for a while.  Merchant’s Guild’s breathing down my neck.”

“You’ll be back by Bethy’s birthday, I hope?” she asked the two of them.

“Hopefully well before then,” Varric said.  “Especially if we’re traveling in style.  I don’t know where this Chateau Haine is, but it’s a Chateau, so it’s up in the mountains somewhere.  We’ll be fine, Hawke.”

They exchanged good nights and Hawke and Fenris walked back, quietly, to her estate.  Fenris had finally sheathed his blade, but he was dangerous enough without a sword, and Hawke was never unarmed unless magebane was involved.  When they reached the front door to her estate, Hawke turned to Fenris, a tired joke on her lips, only to find him pushing her up against the door and kissing her abruptly.  She parted her lips slightly and moaned against the hot kiss; his gauntleted hands gripped her upper arms tightly, holding her in place.

Before the kiss could go on much longer, Fenris was drawing back, and Hawke was blinking at him in surprise.  Welcome surprise. 

“Fenris?”

“I am… relieved…. You chose not to go.  You are too quick to involve yourself in the affairs of others, Marian.  I am relieved I do not have to follow you to Orlais, and keep you safe, and be parted from Bethy.”

She stroked her hand down his cheek and he leaned into the caress.  “I wasn’t going to go, anyway, Fenris.  Not so close to her birthday, and not because some stranger wants me to steal something for her.  I’m not going to do such things.”

“Good,” he replied, satisfaction painted on his features.  “Let us get inside.  It is too cold out here.”

“This is nothing compared to Ferelden, you know,” she said, with a laugh, while digging out the key to the front door.

“Bully for Ferelden,” he grumped, and Hawke laughed, low and delighted at the disgruntlement in his voice. 

“Bully for Ferelden,” she agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the "monthly courses" joke, but since my very first playthrough of DA2, I had it in my mind that Fenris might not take femHawke's monthlies too well.
> 
> Also, there's a quick Discworld reference in here. Did you blink? You might have missed it.


	30. Happy Birthday to Bethy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke goes on a treasure hunt, and Bethy has her first birthday.

Hawke wasn’t exactly certain what the semi-rhythmic thumping was, coming from downstairs, but she knew she was alone in the house, save Orana, who was her charge and whom Hawke must protect, and Bethy, who was still sleeping (although how she could sleep with such goings-on going on, Hawke would never know.)  So, it was up to her to find out what the noise was, and thus she was creeping through the house in her housecoat and some slippers, half asleep and wielding her staff, trying to find out if someone insane was trying to break into her house for the blood of the Hawke, or just to steal things, or because it was Tuesday.

The noise got louder the closer she got to Carver’s room, which was suspicious, because she knew that Carver hadn’t gotten leave for Firstday approved yet, so it was with a mighty shout and a handful of mana ready to channel that Hawke threw open the door to Carver’s room, only to find Carver, Merrill, and Isabela mid-coitus and doing things that offended Hawke’s eyes greatly.  Plus, they were all naked.

“What the shit, Marian?!” Carver shouted, trying to disentangle himself and get up and close the door while Isabela sat back and cackled with laughter and Merrill turned so red that Hawke was afraid she was going to have a heart attack on the spot.  Hawke was holding up her hands, trying to not see what was clearly before her eyes, and desperately trying to avoid looking at anything, or anyone.  She managed to remember she could turn her back, and did so, with a thankful prayer to the Maker that people had backs they could turn on scenes such as younger brothers having sex with two of her friends at the same time.  She threw up another quick prayer for the chamber pot she was sure to throw up in, once she reached upstairs.

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, the grip on her staff turning her knuckles white.  “Sorry!”  She squeezed her eyes shut, but it didn’t block out the sounds of naked people trying to get in a state of not-nakedness.  “I heard… sounds…. And you weren’t supposed to be here!”

“We were having a going away party, sweet thing,” Isabela drawled, the humor in her voice heavy.  “Since we won’t be here on Firstday to give Carver his kisses and coins, we thought we’d give it to him, now.”

“Sorry, Hawke, sorry,” Merrill muttered, and she, at least, sounded contrite.

“Fine…fine, whatever.  Just keep it down, okay?  Bethy is sleeping upstairs and Orana is just down the hall and oh Maker now I have to tell her you’re staying here for the night and that’s just going to be great—“

“Where’s your elf?” Carver asked, suspiciously.

“He’s out helping Aveline with a slaver ring,” Hawke said, shoulders slumping slightly.  There had been a slight row between the two of them in regard to whether or not she should go on this one.  Hawke decided that, since they had so recently reconciled, she would give him the benefit of the doubt this time and _not_ press the advantage, letting him go with Aveline himself.

“And he left you alone here?  I’ll kick his bloody ass,” Carver growled, and Isabela chortled.

“I like it when you’re all manly like that, pup,” she said.

“Yes, growl again,” Merrill giggled.  And with that, Hawke was _out_ of Carver’s room, slamming the door behind her hard enough that, if Orana wasn’t awake before, she would be now.

She stopped by her maid’s room to let her know about the extra guests they would be having for breakfast in just a few hours now, and then she stopped by the nursery to ensure that the noise hadn’t woken Bethy (it hadn’t; she was sleeping soundly.)

The false light of pre-dawn was just beginning to show through the windows of her room, and Hawke debated trying to go back to sleep.  However, Fenris wasn’t back, and that had her worried.  She doubted she would have been awake, if the sounds hadn’t woken her already, but now that she was, she was concerned for Fenris.  Where was he? Aveline should have had him home at least an hour ago, better yet, two.  Or was there another reason he didn’t want Hawke coming out with him tonight?  She chewed her nails, a nasty habit that she couldn’t quite give up, and fretted, sitting in the tall, overstuffed chair that was pushed up against the wall in her room.  Hero was at her side, comfortably snuffing and unaware of his mistress’s distress. 

Perhaps she should get up and start making breakfast now, Hawke thought.  At least it would give her something to do other than just sitting around and twiddling her thumbs, fretting.  She made it downstairs and into the kitchen when she heard the tell-tale sound of the front door opening and Hero waffling at something.  Fenris’s low cursing (“ _Fasta vass, dog, you will wake Hawke!”)_ followed her in there and she came out of the kitchen, startling Fenris, an apology for startling him already on her tongue.

“Are you okay?  Do you need Healing?” she asked, and he shook his head no, locks swaying against his head. “Why were you out so long?”

“More slavers than we expected,” he said, with a shrug.  “I’m sure Donnic got Aveline back to the barracks safely, however.  _Fasta vass, dog, down!_ ”

“Shhh,” Hawke admonished.  “Carver is here.  With, ah… Isabela and Merrill.”  Fenris arched a brow and Hawke shrugged slightly.  “I’m not going to stop them.  I did happen to walk in on them all, though, and I’m afraid that my brain is never going to be the same again.”  She feigned swooning and laughed when Fenris reflexively reached out to catch her, chuckling himself.

“I can’t say I would like to see any of those three in that type of situation, either,” he said.  “Especially not your brother.  I’m sure he’s handsome enough, but he’s still an ass.”

“Ugh, don’t talk about him and handsome in the same sentence.  He might think you’re ready to get in on that action,” Hawke groaned dramatically. She slid both her arms around Fenris’s shoulders and looked into his eyes, smiling.  Fenris’s return smile was warm and genuine, and one of the rare ones that Hawke so loved to see, one that he never let anyone else see but her, and Bethy.  Straightening up, she said, “You probably want something to eat before you go lie down.  I know you’ve got to be tired.”

“I would not impose,” Fenris replied.

“It’s not imposing.  I was actually going to go ahead and cook breakfast, but I could draw you a bath first, and then cook while you’re bathing.”  His eyes widened slightly and he ducked his head down, shyly.

“If… if it is not imposing,” he said, although his tone of voice was uncertain and he sounded almost uncomfortable.

“It’s not imposing,” she promised him, and before long he was resting in the tub upstairs, in hot water, while Hawke made eggs, bacon, and pancakes.

Orana woke when the good smells of breakfast broke through sleep, and she padded into the room with exclamations that the mistress shouldn’t be cooking, which Hawke brushed away as usual.  “I like to cook you all breakfast sometimes, Orana.  You know that.”

“It _does_ smell good,” Orana confessed, with a titter. 

“Hopefully it tastes as good as it smells.  While I’m finishing up here, why don’t you go check on Bethy?”  Orana murmured a hasty agreement, leaving Hawke flipping pancakes and turning bacon.  As she was finishing up, Fenris appeared, hair still damp from his bath and circles darkening his eyes from need of sleep, but otherwise looking hale and hearty.  Orana came down shortly after, with Bethy, and Sandal and Hero chased each other, as well as Bodahn, into the kitchen.  It wasn’t a conventional family, Hawke thought, but it was _her_ family, and she felt a sudden, hot pride in them tighten her chest.  She would do anything to protect them.

* * *

“And we have to stop by Gamlen’s,” Hawke said, checking her robes one final time before they left.

“Is there a reason we need to see your uncle?” Fenris asked, dourly.  Gamlen was hardly one of his favorite people.

“Firstday.  We probably won’t get down there on the actual day, so I’m stopping by now to give him his ‘kiss and coin.’”

“You… are not actually going to kiss your uncle, are you?” He asked, sounding somewhat disgusted.

“Andraste’s ass, no!” she laughed.  “But I will give him his stipend and a cake and visit for a few minutes.  I thought he might like to see Bethy, but I don’t want to chance one of those gangs while we’re out.  It’s hard enough to fight in snow as it is.  I’ll invite him over for her birthday party.”

“I am glad you finally saw reason on that,” he replied, dryly.  It had taken a little bit of talking her into it, but she had abandoned the idea of a large, lavish party and now it was simply going to be her crew, along with a few of the nobles she had specific acquaintance with who had smaller children or grandchildren.  There would be a cake.  Fenris had expressed his acquiescence with the watered-down version of the party, although it had truly taken Aveline speaking with Hawke on more than one occasion to get her to tame it down properly.

“You say that as if I’m unreasonable,” she quipped, leading the way downstairs.  Fenris followed, obviously uncomfortable in the boots he was forced to wear in the cold and snow.

“In some matters, you are less reasonable than in others,” he told her.

“Only in the matter of my daughter, serah,” she said.  Fenris shook his head and opted to stay quiet, this time.

She gathered up the purse that contained Gamlen’s stipend and tucked it away in her belt pouch, then grabbed her staff from where it leaned against the wall near the door.  “Ready?” she said, blowing out her cheeks and affecting a smile.

“Lead on,” Fenris said, and so she did.

It was that time in the city in winter where everyone was tired of the snow, including the snow.  It had long been packed into grey mush, any sort of beauty or sense of fun from its presence having long disappeared, and thus Fenris was forced to wear the winter boots that Hawke had provided for him.  Frostbite would do him no good, and it was the same this year as it had been in previous years: Fenris was prodded until he finally accepted that he had to wear the boots when going out and about in the city. 

They were both bundled up in cloaks, and Hawke wearing a thick underrobe and even thicker stockings with her boots, and it was only just enough to keep most of the chill out.  Kirkwall was still too far south to have the milder winters northern countries had, although it sweltered during the summer heats.  Hawke was simply glad it wasn’t freshly snowing at this point, and the wind was somewhat cut down.  It made the trek into Lowtown, to Gamlen’s house, that much easier.

Gamlen was apparently expecting her, for he answered his door in good time, and he seemed to be in a fair enough mood, because he offered up a hint of a smile and did not casually refer to Fenris as her “pet elf” as he was wont to do (which enraged Hawke, although Fenris seemed to take it in stride.) As was her usual custom, Hawke went over the stack of mail he had sitting out on the desk, looking for any bill collectors who might be thinking of getting a bit handsy with her uncle, when she came across a queer missive that didn’t fit in with the rest of the threats.

“Uncle, what’s this about a gem?” she asked, turning slightly to face him, where he sat in the most comfortable (and least broken) chair in front of the roaring hearth.

“Stay out of my business, girl,” he growled, steepling his fingers and refusing to meet her gaze.

“If you’re worried about who sent the note, I can go in your place,” Hawke told him, folding the letter up and putting it in her now empty belt pouch.

“I never said that.  I don’t know who sent the note, and I don’t want to.  I’m not interested.  Stay out of my business, Marian.”  Hawke frowned at him, but Gamlen didn’t seem interested in continuing that line of conversation, and so Hawke left off and moved on to a safer topic: inviting him over for Bethany’s first birthday party.

By the time they left Gamlen’s little hovel, she was nearly on the edge of her seat with the desire to talk to Fenris about the note, and Fenris seemed to sense her excitement.

“Maybe this is something good I can finally do for Uncle that doesn’t involve giving him money to drink and whore away,” she said, on their way to The Hanged Man.

“Your uncle seemed rather insistent that you stay out of his business,” Fenris warned, knowing it would do no good.

“Since when do I listen to what my uncle tells me to do?” she scoffed, and grinned, while hooking her arm around Fenris’s, as much for support as for affection; the roads were icy and uneven, especially down in Lowtown.  “We’ll get Varric and ‘Bela and we’ll head to Darktown to find out who sent the note.  It’ll be easy.”

Fenris snorted and shook his head.  “Easy.  Your uncle will not thank you for it.”

“I’m not doing it for his thanks, I’m doing it to protect his hide.  He’s family, after all, and I don’t have enough family left to let them be shanked by some debt collector over something I can prevent.”  Fenris made no reply, and Hawke was content enough for that.

Soon they arrived at The Hanged Man, and Fenris pushed open the door after disentangling from Hawke.  A cacophony of smells assaulted them as they entered the warmth of the tavern with the most dubious distinction in Lowtown: sour ale, piss, vomit, desperation, armor and weapon polishes and oils.  Few people went about unarmed in The Hanged Man, and fewer still were less deadly for being unarmed.

Hawke nodded to Corff, who nodded back from his place behind the bar.  As far as Corff was concerned, Hawke was an ideal customer: paid her tab on time, didn’t start any more fights than necessary, there often, but not too often.  Oh, and she was the city’s Champion; that earned her a little bit of respite from any bad feelings he might have for the trouble she sometimes dragged in.

Pushing their way up the stairs and to Varric’s suite, Hawke noticed that everyone seemed particularly drunk and cheerful today.  Why not?  Days away from Firstday and the customary kisses, cakes, and coins, the idea of the new year heralded good feelings all throughout Kirkwall.  Even the dreary snow and never-ending cold couldn’t chase away the good feelings, and that buoyed Hawke even further; she could help her uncle out and she _would_.

Isabela was nowhere to be seen, but Varric was in his suite, feet up on the table, pipe in hand, reading.  It was strange, to catch Varric with something resembling downtime, because he was always so full of energy and on the move.  Hawke plopped herself down beside him, leaning back in the chair and crossing her feet at the ankles, smiling for all she was worth, while Fenris closed the door behind them, already assured of the direction the conversation was going to take.

“Varric, my favorite dwarf!”

“I’m your only dwarf,” Varric replied.  “Well, as far as I know, at least.”

“We’ve got to go to Darktown!”  She fished out the note and handed it over, then sketched out the quick backstory for Varric, who seemed interested and was already standing up and strapping Bianca on before Hawke was finished with her story.

“Well, if we’re going to need Rivaini, we’d better go and get her.  Last I heard, she was in her room nursing a nasty hangover.”

“Isabela?  Hung over?  Perish the thought,” Hawke teased, giddy and nearly bouncing on her toes with the desire to _move_ , to be doing something for her uncle. 

“She was putting it away something fierce last night,” Varric said.  “I only heard her earlier, yelling at somebody to keep the noise down, before the tavern started getting crowded.”

“Hopefully a little bit of Healing will get her right as raindrops and ready to come with us, then,” Hawke said. 

It was exactly as Varric had described: Isabela was miserably hungover, and grouchy with it, cursing at Hawke to go away and leave her be, unless she had a ship to give. 

“I don’t have a ship, but I’ve got Healing magic, and that’s just as good right now,” Hawke said, laying hands on either side of ‘Bela’s head and running her Healing through the other woman.  It only took a moment for the bags under Isabela’s eyes to go away and for the pirate to sit up and act a little more human.

“Thanks, sweet thing,” she said, pressing a kiss to Hawke’s cheek.  “I owe you one.”

“You can repay me by coming with me to Darktown,” Hawke said, excited, and sketched out the plan for Isabela.  Fenris simply leaned against the door, arms folded across his chest, and Varric sat in the only chair in the small room, Bianca in his lap.  Before long, Isabela looked excited, too.

“A gem, eh?  I like that idea.”

“We’re doing it for Gamlen,” Hawke reminded her, standing and straightening her robes.

“Maybe so, sweet thing, but where there’s one gem, there’s more, in my experience.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.  C’mon, let’s go to Darktown!”

It didn’t take them long to make it down to the undercity, Hawke taking point excitedly, but once down there it was harder than she had anticipated to find the one single group out of the entire place who was looking for her uncle.  She had to resort to asking, but it was a method that paid off after little more than two hours of traipsing through the chilly sewers of Darktown.

“Gamlen Amell, eh?  Who wants to know who’s looking for him?”

“Does it matter?” Hawke asked.  “Someone’s looking for him, about the Gem of Keroshek, and I’m the one they’re dealing with.”

“Fair enough,” the man said.  He was a fair-skinned, fair-haired, overfed man with unflattering bushy muttonchops gracing his jowls.  Hawke disliked him immediately.  “I was beginning to think no one was coming about it.  Took you long enough.  It’s rude to keep people waiting, you know.  I got things to do.”

“Oh, sorry.  I mean, wait, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t talk down to me.  I ain’t stupid,” the man said.  Hawke was quickly becoming both confused and irritated, never a good combination with her.  “We was hired to give you a note.  But this Gem of Keroshek thing, well… that sounds better than what we was paid to do, so we’ll be taking it instead.  You’d better hand it over.”

Hawke scoffed and leaned on her staff.  “I’m surprised you know what a note is, much less have the ability to read the thing.”

“I only need to know which end of the sword goes where,” the man said, and Hawke sighed theatrically, gathering her mana in.  Apparently, these men were stupider than she thought. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere without that gem.”

“You’re half right,” Hawke said, taking two steps back.  Fenris, behind and to her right, glowed faintly, and she could hear the snick-snick of Isabela drawing her daggers.

It wasn’t Muttonchops who moved first, but it was one of his cronies, stabbing forward with a badly forged sword that Hawke easily blocked using her staff blade.  It didn’t even leave a mark.  She shook her head and tsked slightly, then fell back further, letting Isabela and Fenris rush forward while she joined Varric at range.

The fight was embarrassingly short for the blackmailers.  They were unskilled, with poor weapons and armor, and Hawke and her crew took them down with little in the way of injury to themselves, and the few nicks that Fenris did receive were easily Healed up with Hawke’s magic.

“Almost not even worth the trouble,” Fenris said, although he, too, knew the dangers of fighting and taking wounds in Darktown.  Even he would not turn away Healing down here.  After the quick Healing, Hawke helped Isabela to rifle through the pockets of the dead men (and one woman; equal opportunity idiots, apparently) to try to find out who they were and what they wanted with Gamlen. 

It was Isabela who found the note, and she passed it to Hawke, who read it out loud.  She couldn’t keep the confusion out of her voice, however.  “’ This gem is very pretty, I can understand your obsession with it. Remember the game, wallop? Find the place your wallop mallet came from. Your answers are there.’ Wallop mallet?  Doesn’t Gamlen have one hanging up?”

“In his living room,” Varric confirmed.  “Are you sure this chase is worth it, Hawke?”

“If it keeps Gamlen safe, it’s worth it,” she said, back straight.  Carefully, Hawke folded up the note and put it in her belt pouch beside the other one.  “Looks like we’re headed back to Gamlen’s place.  This should be fun.”

* * *

It was dark out, and they were joined by Merrill as they made their way to the docks.  Hawke was feeling the excitement of a scavenger hunt: the clues to whatever this was for Gamlen lead them back to his house, and then to the alienage, where they picked up Merrill, and then back to Gamlen’s house.  Hawke left Varric and Isabela at The Hanged Man while she brought Fenris and Merrill back to her estate to eat dinner, promising to meet up again and find this Smetty’s Fish Guttery, a warehouse somewhere in the docks.

Fenris, never fond of the docks and doubly not fond of the many warehouses there, scowled and muttered as they entered the seemingly-abandoned building.  “Bah!  Fish, fish and more fish,” he grumbled, fingers tightening on his sword hilt, and Hawke patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“We’ll be out of here as soon as possible,” she promised him.

“Not soon enough,” he said.  She refrained from suggesting that he could have stayed at home; that would have led to a disagreement, and they needed no more disagreements, nor did they need the distraction right now.

“We’ve got to search these crates,” Hawke said, with a sigh.  There were _so many_.

“We’re not going to get them searched just standing here,” Merrill said, cheerfully, and summoned a magelight to help give them a little extra light.  Hawke followed suit, and they crawled through the various crates, trying to find the right one.

“What number are we looking for again?” Isabela asked, checking the two that were in front of her.

“Number 1023,” Hawke replied.  “And I think I found it.”  She brought the magelight down closer to inspect the number, and it was, indeed, number 1023.  “Something seems off,” she said, noting the odd scent around the crate, that was more redolent of deathroot than of fish.

“I wonder what’s in there,” Merrill said, and then Hawke stepped back suddenly, pulling Merrill with her.

“It’s a trap!” she shouted, and mercenary attackers poured out of the adjacent, unsearched rooms while some sort of grenade went off there at the crate.  It smelled more strongly of deathroot, but Hawke’s forte was not poisons, and she didn’t stop to ask Varric or Isabela what they thought the poison gas might be.  One thing was sure, it wasn’t the saar-gamek that the Qunari used.  Hawke would never forget the smell of _that_ stuff.

There were more of these attackers, and they were better armed and armored, as well as better trained, than the ones who had attacked in Darktown.  Hawke was growing certain that whoever had set up this scavenger hunt meant nothing but harm for her uncle, and was doubly pleased with herself that she was the one who actually went after them.  Nobody hurt her family and got away with it, and they would learn that the hard way.

The first thing she needed to do was get away from the poison gas.  The stuff was choking, and it was hard to drag herself from it, but she managed to get down onto the first floor and away from the crate that had the stuff in it.  Meanwhile, the mercenaries had advanced, and Fenris was engaging two of them while Isabela was fighting one, and Varric was rushing in to deal damage with his own grenades.

Coughing and choking, Hawke managed to get out of the area of effect of the gas in time to bring her staff up and block a short sword from one of the attackers.  She flung her hand out and summoned a cone of cold, freezing the man where he stood; his sword clattered out of suddenly frozen fingers, and she used the distraction to cast another freezing spell at him, then called chain lightning, which was always harder to do inside buildings and on clearer nights, like tonight was.

It was harder to keep up with her crew this time, in part because it was darker in the building and in part because it was a tougher fight, but they came away with relatively few injuries, and nothing that required more extreme forms of Healing or any visits to Anders’s clinic.  Hawke was able to take care of it all on her own, which said something about her growing mana pool; she was proud that she was able to cast more spells more often, and knew it was due in part to her practicing holding her mana as long as she could at full capacity to stretch it.

“What’s this?” she asked, when they located yet _another_ note on one of the looted dead bodies.  “’Bring Gamlen to the caverns where we first met.  If he’s not alive, you won’t get a single copper.’  The Sink?  Isn’t that out on the Wounded Coast?”

“We’ll not be going there tonight,” Fenris said, and it was not a suggestion.

“No, it’s too far to make it tonight,” Hawke agreed.  “But tomorrow?”

“Only if we bring Aveline with us as well,” Fenris said, in tentative agreement. 

“We’ll stop by the barracks and ask her to come with us,” Hawke said.  “I want this dealt with sooner rather than later.  If Gamlen’s life is in danger…”

“We won’t let his life be in danger for long, Hawke,” Varric said, patting her on the back in a brotherly sort of manner.  Hawke shrugged and nodded.

“I think it’s obvious that someone wants him dead, or else they wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” Merrill said.  “I guess they didn’t count on Gamlen not wanting to play their game.”

“He’d be dead after that first meeting,” Isabela said.  “Those guys were pushovers, but not for someone like Gamlen.”

“We’ll take care of him,” Hawke said, a promise.  She protected her family.  She would protect Gamlen.

Isabela and Varric saw Merrill home, and a quick stop by the barracks saw Aveline promise to accompany them out to The Sink the next day.  Hawke and Fenris dragged themselves home, both worn out after all the chasing and fighting of the day, to find Bethy in a foul mood, whining and crying and having missed her parents greatly.

And it would be another long day without them tomorrow, Hawke thought, as she cuddled with her child in the rocking chair in the nursery.  Another long day out to The Sink, and probably fighting then, if that was even the end of it.  She hoped it was.  Gamlen may have been a piss poor uncle, but better a live piss poor uncle than a dead one.

The next day, she rose before dawn and woke Fenris, who was not happy with being woken up but was prepared to get up and go along with Hawke.  They readied themselves and then stopped by and picked up the crew members who were coming along: Aveline, Varric, Isabela, Merrill.  By the time the sun was its own height above the horizon, they were well on their way to The Sink, loaded up and ready for a fight.

“Why,” Hawke said, thumbing giant spider out of her hair, “is it always giant spiders?  Why can’t it be giant bunny rabbits instead?”

“Because giant bunny rabbits exploding everywhere would be even more pants-shittingly terrifying?” Varric called over, causing Hawke to give him a withering look.

“I wonder why there’s always undead to fight,” Aveline said.  “There don’t look to be any mages about.  Do the dead truly not rest that well in Kirkwall?”

“Or even outside of Kirkwall proper,” Hawke said, wrestling with getting more giant spider innards out of her hair and failing greatly.  With a huff she gave up and tied her hair up in the back in a long ponytail; at least it was out of her face this way. 

“Why is it we’re the ones always taking these things out?  You’d think the people who got here first would have to deal with the undead and the giant spiders as well,” Fenris asked, sounding earnestly curious.

“Just lucky, I guess,” Hawke said, holding tight to her staff and readying herself for any further attacks.  So far, into The Sink, they had been attacked by giant spiders, which she loathed, and the undead, which she merely hated, because they couldn’t help but be brought back from the dead.  “Is this thing just a maze or am I lost again?” she muttered, as they passed through one doorway that looked exactly like the previous doorway.  She couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t.

Of a sudden, they came into a clearing, one they hadn’t been in before, and a woman was standing there in the middle, shaking her head.

“And Gamlen couldn’t even be bothered to come for the gem himself,” she said, sounding disappointed.  “I should have expected he’d send you, Cousin.”

Cousin? 

“I didn’t know you had such a pretty little cousin, Hawke!” Isabela exclaimed, approvingly. 

“I have a cousin?”

“Gamlen never told you?  Of course he wouldn’t.  Why would he?”

A taller, fair-haired man sauntered up to the group.  “Sorry to interrupt this touching family reunion, but we have unfinished business here.”  The man looked familiar.

“Veld?” her cousin asked the man.  “What are you doing here?”

“Mekel is dead!  That bitch killed him!”

“What’s a Mekel?” Hawke asked, genuinely confused.

“My brother!” the man yelled, and Hawke realized where she saw the familiarity: the unattractive, rude man who she had to kill in Darktown, when this entire thing first started.  “Mekel was my brother, and you killed him!”

“Why would you kill him?  That doesn’t make sense, Mekel was just supposed to hand over the note.”

“Is this the same Mekel that attacked me because I didn’t have this Gem of Keroshek?  He was going to attack Gamlen, if he had shown up.  He was also incredibly rude,” Hawke finished, primly.

“You think we didn’t read the note?  We knew about that gem, Charade.  Hand it over.  I won’t let Mekel’s death be for nothing.”

“You let your brother go up against someone like Hawke, the _Champion of Kirkwall_ , for a _stupid_ gem?” Charade asked, incredulously.  “I did find the gem, but you’re not getting your pathetic little hands on it, Veld.”

“Fine, we’ll do this the hard way.”

It turned out that her cousin was an archer, and a fine one.  It was also good that they had brought Aveline along, because Veld came prepared for a fight.

This fight was longer than their one the previous night, and these men knew what they were doing.  Veld must have hired an entire mercenary company because no sooner did she have one man down but another took his place.  Hawke ran out of mana several times, and had to force lyrium down more than once.  She tried to always ration her lyrium, so as not to get addicted nor become dependent on it, but this was a fight that she couldn’t watch herself on.  By the end of it, she had downed three lyrium vials and was starting to shake and become slightly giddy, her pupils blown wide, feeling a little bit drunk.

But Veld and his men lay dead, dying, or had run away, and Charade was turning to a tired Hawke.

“Well, you’re pretty handy in a fight.  You don’t take after Gamlen at all.”

“Neither do you, what with knowing how to fight at all to begin with,” she said, clenching her back teeth to keep them from chattering.  Fenris obviously saw the signs of lyrim addlement coming on, for he was quickly at her side, holding to her arm and murmuring to her quietly that he had her.  Isabela and Merrill were acting the magpies again, looting bodies, and Charade shot them an appreciative look.

“I guess I should take that as a compliment.  My mother, Mara… she left Gamlen before I was even born, so I have never actually met him.  I only know about him from what she said, and she never said much about him until I was much older, old enough to go and find him on my own, if I wanted to.”

“Do you really have the gem?  Or were you lying to Veld?”

“Not lying at all.  I managed to do what Gamlen wasted a fortune trying to do: I found the Gem of Keroshek.  He wasted so much time and money looking for that stupid thing, I think he didn’t even notice that my mother had left him,” Charade said, bitingly.  “But I’ve got the Gem now.”

“The only time I’ve ever heard Gamlen mention this gem is when the note showed up.  He said he lost a lot searching for it, but then gave up looking for it.  I think he really did give it up, Charade.  I think losing your mother in search for the gem really affected him.  He seems to be a different man than he was in his youth, from what I know of him.”

“That would be a surprise,” Charade said, “but a welcome one.”

“So why all this runaround?  The next time you want to talk to someone, try knocking on their door first.  If Gamlen had been the one going after the gem because of your note, he’d be dead by now, and neither of us want that.”

“Oh, yes, brilliant.  Show up on his doorstep and say, ‘hi, I’m your daughter.’  I’m sure that would have gone over well.”  Hawke leaned on Fenris a little more and took a deep breath in.  Her head was starting to clear somewhat; apparently the three lyrium draughts were not too much for her, then.  She would need to go home and rest for the remainder of the day, though, since the next day was Firstday, the first day of the new year, and she’d be expected out for kisses, coins, and cakes.  “I just wanted to see,” Charade continued, looking down.  “I dunno… how far he would go, for something he really wanted.”  She kicked a rock.  “And then he doesn’t even show up.  I baited him with the one thing I thought would get his attention, that he wanted more than anything in the world…”

“Gamlen’s not so bad,” Hawke told her cousin.  The others seemed content enough to stand back and watch the touching family reunion.  “He’s got some good qualities.  You might be surprised, if you went to meet him.”

“Really?  Then what do you think I should do?”

“I think you should go and meet your father,” Hawke said, sincerely.  “Does he even know about you?”

“No, I don’t think he does.  If Mother told him about me, she didn’t tell me that she told him.”

“Then this will be a Firstday surprise he’ll never forget,” Hawke said, grinning.

* * *

“Fenris,” Hawke said, sleepily, shoving her cold toes against his warm legs.

“Mmmph,” Fenris agreed, jerking his legs back.

“Fenris, Bethy is a year old today,” she said, and then yawned widely and nuzzled her face against his neck.

“A year,” Fenris grumped, cuddling close to Hawke.  “I can hardly imagine.”

“And her birthday party is today.  Do you remember what I was doing this time a year ago?”

“I’ve worked hard to forget,” he said, turning his head into the pillow and muffling his words.  “That was a most disturbing experience for me.  You were in pain, and there was nothing I could do to assist.”

“But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

“If you think it was.  I think it was.  Bethany is a beautiful, wonderful child.”

“Look at you, being all paternal.”

“I have reason to be, sometimes.”

“Mmmm.”  She blinked her eyes slowly, then sighed and sat up.  She was awake now, for good or ill, and it was Bethany’s first birthday, the 12th day of Wintermarch.

The party they had planned for later in the afternoon was quickly approaching.  Hawke dressed herself, and even managed to talk Fenris into getting out of bed and getting dressed as well, although he eschewed shoes inside the house, claiming it was warm enough and he was in no danger of frostbite there. 

Bethy was awake shortly before she finished dressing, and was standing up in her crib, all smiles for her mother, reaching up with both grabby, chubby little hands.  Hawke laughed and tossed her up in the air just slightly, then changed her wet nappie for a dry one and dressed her in warm, clean socks and a pinafore. 

“Such a pretty girl,” Hawke sing-songed to Bethy.  “So very smart, just like her mommy.”  Bethy laughed and tried to grab for Hawke’s hair, but Hawke pulled her head back slightly, just out of reach.  “You shouldn’t do that anymore, my girl.  You are a year old.  You should act like it.  Big girls do big things like walk and eat cake and have first birthdays, not grab at mommy’s hair.”

The party was scheduled for the afternoon, and soon the guests started arriving.  Isabela, of course, brought alcohol, claiming that birthdays were more to celebrate the parents having survived than the children.  Sebastian brought a friend for Chauncey the Bear, and Aveline brought new pinafores (who knew the guard captain had such a soft side for small girls’ clothing?) while Merrill brought a new hand-knitted blanket.  Anders showed up for just a moment, long enough to wish Hawke and Bethy well, and then disappeared again, which was, probably, for the best; he and Fenris could not be together long without arguing, and the last thing that Hawke wanted was anyone arguing during Bethy’s birthday celebration.

Varric brought her a rag doll, which Bethy took an immediate liking to, and one of the other, small children who had shown up with their parents and grandparents in tow fought with her over, until Hawke had to hide the doll away from both crying children with hurried apologies to the guests.

There was cake, which was enjoyed by all, but especially the birthday girl, who seemed to wear more of her cake than ate it.  There was the traditional singing of the birthday song, which she _did not_ enjoy, no thank you, and cried during, which caused Hawke no small amount of embarrassment (but was mollified by one of her older guests, who told her it was common with small children who suddenly found themselves the center of attention of especially several older guests saying things at them at once.) 

Gamlen showed up, as did Charade.  Hawke was especially pleased that her cousin came around, as she hadn’t been quite sure she would, even though she extended the invitation the same day they met.  She was _thrilled_ to have a cousin, to have another relative, and Carver, who showed up towards the end of the party (and apologized profusely, but templar duties being what they were, he couldn’t always get away when he wanted) was nearly as excited to meet her as she was to meet him.

“A templar in the family, eh?” Charade said, her grin spread wide over her face.  “Nice to know we’ve got them in our pockets, Cousin!”

“I’d hardly call myself in anyone’s ‘pockets,’” Carver complained.

“I don’t know, I’d say you’re in Merrill’s back pocket pretty well,” Hawke said, and Carver blushed three shades of red before muttering something about his sister not fighting fair and bumbling off, probably in search of said elven apostate. 

One thing that felt _odd_ but not _wrongly odd_ was that Fenris was there, not in a capacity as her friend or as a crew member, but as her…whatever he was.  Romantic partner?  It allowed him to play the father role to Bethy and not be looked askance by the guests who weren’t as close as Hawke’s crew was.  Even Gamlen and Charade didn’t know that Fenris was her real father, and as far as she was concerned, neither of them would ever know the truth.  It was enough that Fenris was playing the part, and seemingly happy playing the part, and no one minded quite that much.

By late afternoon, Bethy was ready for a nap and so the parents and grandparents of the few small children left, and Isabela insisted they break out the rum that she stole _just_ for this occasion.  Even Gamlen and Charade were talked into staying for a drink or two, although talking Gamlen into drinking wasn’t that difficult.

Bethy down for her nap, and Hawke and Fenris and their friends in the library, Hawke’s favorite room, celebrating the first birthday of her first child.  She shared a smile with him, as bright and genuine as his own was, and toasted him.

“To another wonderful year,” she said.

“Agreed,” Fenris said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm taking a little bit of liberty here with Thedasian Birthday Traditions. Let's just go with it, until someone writes The Great Big Book of Thedasian Holiday Celebrations.
> 
> Also, sorry for skipping Firstday, but I figured nobody wanted to truly read about going from house to house and giving out kisses, cakes, and coins. I mean, it's pretty self explanatory :-)
> 
> If you're wondering about the continuity, with Tallis and Isabela, Varric, and Merrill going off to Chateau Haine, they're leaving on Firstday and they get back before Bethy's party. I got my timing mixed up a little bit so I'm kind of working it around that way.


	31. A Little Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little exposition and a little domesticity and a little bit of arguing between Hawke and Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These exposition chapters are irritating. I actually messed up and, last chapter? With Charade? Well, that was supposed to conclude this chapter, so I didn't have much in the way of action.
> 
> So have some talking and some catching up with everyone. And some jealous Fenris. Mmmm. I like me some jealous Fenris....

And just like that, Wintersend was upon them, and the final day of winter.

The final _technical_ day of winter, as the temperatures were still far too cold for spring, and there were places where grungy, grey snow still hung on to its last vestiges of winter expression.  However, it was spring enough to begin the planting in some places around Kirkwall, and Hawke spared a thought to her little garden in the little house in Grunding, wondering if anyone was keeping it going simply for the extra food.  They should visit the little house, she thought to herself often, but so much kept coming up and preventing her from making real plans to do so.

The slightly warmer weather and the slightly more difficult to find foodstuff always led to an increase of crime in Kirkwall, with bandits and thugs lining the streets to try to steal from someone else what they couldn’t earn any other way.  Hawke found herself busy at night, especially, taking them down, with various members of her crew there to help but always Fenris at her side.

Domesticity looked good on Hawke and Fenris, except where it didn’t: Anders, and his continued existence.  Fenris pulled no punches when it came to Anders, and Hawke had to admit, he had a bit of a point; Anders _was_ becoming increasingly volatile, and more likely to go on tirades about mage rights, and how everyone was going to have to take a side.  He was working with the Mage Underground, something he had stopped doing for a while, but then drifted back to like a magnet.  Fenris had a point that the Mage Underground was dangerous, and he didn’t want that kind of danger around Bethy; he didn’t want it around Hawke, either, but at least he acknowledged that Hawke was a grown woman who could choose her own path.

However, it wasn’t like she could just deny Anders a place to stay, even when that place was a small room down in the cellar, and regular meals.  Since she started feeding him, Anders had gained a small amount of weight back, and looked less like death walking and more like the Grey Warden he was supposed to be.  How could she deny him meals, or simple human contact, when it was having such a truly positive effect on the man? 

And so, this was usually the only thing that Hawke and Fenris argued over, but even that was somewhat rare.

Most of the first of Guardian was spent being ridiculously domestic.  Hawke and Fenris played mommy and daddy while Bethy played the cutest little girl.  The change that overcame Fenris when he played with Bethy was still enough to shock those who knew him best; over a year of watching him with his daughter and Isabela and Varric still teased him about going soft.

While they were at Hawke’s estate, Fenris seemed to feel no qualms about playing the part of daddy.  He cared for Bethy regardless of who was there, otherwise, including nappie changes and feeding times.  It seemed as though the estate was becoming as much his home as it was theirs, and he was comfortable in his own home. 

Outside was a different matter.  He maintained his aloofness, or as much of it as he retained at that point, anyhow, always on guard in case they were attacked, always ready to draw his blade.  There were several more incidents like the one in the Lowtown market that time, where Bethy would be comforted by no one but her father, yet all it did was create more gossip, and Hawke was little worried about the gossip surrounding her.  If everyone knew she was bedding Fenris, and that he spent a lot of time at her estate and with her and Bethy, why would Bethy not show favor to him?  It seemed logical, although she had the hidden niggling of fear that someone was going to find them out and realize that Bethy was her natural daughter.

Especially once her eyes started turning green.  They did it slowly, but by the beginning of Guardian, that blue that Hawke was sure came from her was turning the same mossy green as Fenris’s eyes.  Anyone seeing the two of them together could not help but realize they were father and daughter, for the resemblance was that great between them.  She certainly looked the part of Hawke’s daughter, with the dark hair, but the olive skin, green eyes, and fierce scowls she sometimes got put her squarely as Fenris’s.  At least amongst their friends they could freely discuss such subjects, and there was teasing, of course, of when to expect another little Fenris.  Bets were made on whether or not the next one would be a boy, much to Hawke’s consternation and sputtering that she hadn’t been consulted on whether or not there were going to be any more at all.  Fenris stayed silent on the matter when it came up, simply letting Hawke be baited into jesting with their mutual friends and giving them new fodder to gossip over, while he quietly sat there with Bethany, or nursed a glass of wine, or a pint of what The Hanged Man referred to as “ale.”

But for the first part of Guardian, things were relatively quiet.  Isabela had gotten some wanderlust out of her system with the trip she made out to Chateau Haine in Orlais, and considering she had gotten to steal a ridiculous amount of stuff, she was a fairly happy woman when she returned with Varric and Merrill.  She was still spending up the coin she had made and not too eager to go off or get into much trouble, for the time being.

Varric was busy avoiding the Merchant’s Guild, as usual.  Hawke always told him that it couldn’t be as bad as he was making it out to be, but he simply laughed and said no, it was worse.  He seemed to have let Merrill and Isabela have more than an equal share of the coin they brought back from their trip, but he didn’t really need it; he had gotten as wealthy as Hawke was, from the expedition, and simply hung around in The Hanged Man because he liked the atmosphere and liked having drunk people listening to him talk.  It was also the best place in the city to pick up on the kind of gossip that he liked picking up on. 

Merrill seemed to ignore the coin she brought back, and went straight back to that damned mirror, fussing over it and trying to get it to work.  The few times Hawke visited her, she could barely pull Merrill away from the thing, and Varric was having to make special trips to lure Merrill from her home, or have groceries delivered to her, because otherwise the little Dalish was refusing to do what she needed to do.  Hawke wished she could get rid of the damned mirror, but the idea of taking it from Merrill was a step too far.

Sebastian was busy in the Chantry, still unable to decide if he were going to be a Brother or a Prince.  The few times Hawke talked to him, he seemed to rant and choose one path, then would turn around and rant and choose the other.  There was not much she could do, other than listen to him and nod, when appropriate.  Hawke personally thought he would do better as Prince in Starkhaven, but she refrained from giving him any actual advice because that would only prolong the conversations and, lately, talking to Sebastian was nearly as impossible as talking to Anders was.

Aveline was caught up in the excitement of her wedding, and Hawke was caught up in the excitement right with her.  There was so much to be done and decided, and only three months to do and decide.  There was the wedding gown (which Hawke insisted on being blue, despite the fact that Aveline had been married before, and the fact that blue did not suit Aveline’s coloring very well; the Guard-Captain pushed back only slightly, seemingly taken with the idea of being a summer bride in blue, and discussing the gown was one of the few times anyone saw the absolute girlish side that Aveline had; she _giggled_ and _gushed_ over dresses, before coughing and thinking better of herself, reminding both herself and Hawke that she was the Captain of the Guard and they should never speak of that again.)  There were flowers to be arranged (or rather, flower arrangements to be arranged) and caterers (because the wedding of the Captain of the Guard was going to require more than just a few of her friends and some treats baked up by Orana; even Seneschal Bran was not going to miss out on an opportunity to show up to this!) and expensive wines to be procured from Orlais and Antiva, and liquors from Rivain, because it wasn’t a party unless there was a good rum there.

Hawke offered the use of her estate for both the wedding and the reception, and Aveline gratefully accepted.  Fenris approved of this; Hawke could tell by the smile he got on his face when he saw Aveline and Donnic light up at the offer.  That made her feel like she certainly had made the right decision in offering the use of her home for them.  But that meant that the entire house would need to be gone over, repaired, the gardens would have to be seen to, things would need shuffling around and…

And there were a lot of decisions to be made about the wedding, and a lot of things that needed planning, and Hawke had jumped into it with both feet and eyes wide open, as involved in Aveline’s wedding as Aveline was.

She even took Donnic to the side and pushed a small purse into his hand, insisting that they honeymoon in Val Royeaux and insisting further that she be allowed to foot some of the bill, as thanks to Aveline for all the help the Guardswoman had given her over the years, and simply because they were friends.  Donnic was surprised, and flattered that Hawke was so set on making sure her friend had the best wedding and honeymoon she could possibly have, and accepted graciously, but with a promise that he would pay her back as and when he was able, that Hawke accepted only to hush him up.

The wedding plans, she had to admit to herself, also made her feel a bit sad. She certainly didn’t want to take away the joy from her friend, but the idea that she herself might never have a wedding, might never get married….  She knew, vaguely, that Fenris would marry her, if she asked him, and she wasn’t even sure if _she_ wanted to get married now.  But getting caught up in the excitement of Aveline’s wedding plans…  It just made her feel a bit sad.  Sadness that didn’t necessarily abate when she was with Fenris and Bethy.  Hawke scolded herself several times over it, however; she had a partner, and a child.  Who truly needed the pomp and circumstance of a wedding when she already had the culmination of such a thing?  But the scolding never lasted long.

And that left only Anders, whom Hawke did not see very often, but when she did, he looked worse and worse.  She wondered if Justice was letting him eat and sleep, for he looked even skinnier than usual, and his eyes were deeply shadowed.  When he came up into the house for food or bathing, if Fenris were there, he usually tried to pick a fight with Anders, which irritated Hawke to no end.  She usually had to send Fenris out on some made up errand or another just so he would give Anders some peace, although Fenris argued with Hawke over the made-up errands nearly as much as he argued with Anders.  His dislike of the mage was starting to become unreasonable and Hawke wasn’t sure what she could do about it. 

The tension finally came to a head when Anders had been gone for four days and finally dragged himself into Hawke’s estate reeking of the sewers, his coat torn, several feathers missing off his pauldrons, his hair singed, his facial hair now more beard than stubble.

He stumbled into the library, eyes blinking owlishly, and Hawke gasped and leaped to his side from where she was sitting in her chair, insisting that he come in and sit down.

“Have you not eaten, Anders?”  She did not miss the ink stains on his fingers and hands, or the ink smudges on his nose.  “You reek.  When was the last time you slept?  Ate?  Bathed?”

“I… don’t remember.  I’m sorry, Hawke,” he said, sitting down in the recently vacated chair.  Bethy clapped her hands and toddled over to him, but Hawke swept the child up into her arms before she could reach Anders. 

“Anders, you have to control Justice.  You can’t let him control you.  Make yourself a good example for mages, not a bad one.”

“I’m trying.  It’s just… there’s so much work to be done.”  He sounded so tired, Hawke’s heart went out to him, and she was doubly glad that Fenris was out for the afternoon.

“Will you eat?  And bathe?  And sleep?  Please?”  She rested Bethy on her hip, and Bethy stuck her fingers into her mouth, staring at Anders with wide, green eyes.

“Andes,” she said, then waved at the apostate, who seemed taken aback by the gesture and looked at Hawke uncomfortably.

“Is Fenris not here?” he asked, coming to the heart of the matter.

“He’s out for a while.  Enough time for you to eat and bathe, at least, and then you can go sleep in your room and he won’t know.”

“I’m… I’m sorry to be the cause of fighting between you two,” he said, folding his hands in his lap and looking at them.  Strands of his hair were loose from his ponytail and fluttered around his face.

“That’s between me and him.  I suspect we would have those arguments, regardless.  His opinion of mages hasn’t changed, despite… our relationship,” she finished, unable to come up with another term to use.

“I would never treat you like he treats you, Marian,” Anders said, looking up at her.  “If… If I were with you, maybe Justice would let me be, more.”

“Anders,” Hawke said, sternly.

“You’re right,” he said, with a sigh, and stood up.  “I’ll eat something, and then get a bath.  I appreciate you letting me stay here, more than you can know, Hawke.”

“Just take better care of yourself.  I wish there were a way to tell Justice to let you eat and sleep sometimes.”

“With so much to do…”  He shrugged, and then went out of the library, ostensibly to seek out the kitchens.  Hawke sighed and looked at Bethy, who was watching her mother.

“Andes sad,” Bethy said, and Hawke sighed again.

“Yes, Anders is sad.”

“Chauncey?” Bethy asked, and Hawke shook her head.

“I don’t think Chauncey’s going to help him this time, kiddo.”  She kissed Bethy’s head and then sat her down on the floor.  “Since when did you start learning these words, anyway?”

“Andes,” Bethy said, again.

“Well, I know you didn’t learn them from him.  He’s barely here.  Did you learn them from daddy?”  Bethy looked towards the doorway, as if expecting to see Fenris there, and frowned a little when he wasn’t.  “He’ll be back soon, don’t pull that face on me.”

“Cookie,” Bethy suggested, and Hawke shook her head again, sitting down in the chair that Anders had vacated. 

“No cookies.  They’ll ruin your dinner.”

“Chauncey?”  Hawke leaned forward and picked up the bear, then handed it over to Bethy, who cooed and laughed at it. 

“Yes, Chauncey,” she said, with a sigh, her mind on Anders.

She got caught up in catching up with her correspondence, watching Bethy play and occasionally playing with her, and didn’t realize what the time was when Fenris came in and headed straight to Bethy, who squealed a laugh and raised her arms for him to pick her up.

“How is my little Bethy doing?” he asked, and placed a kiss on top of her head.

“Andes sad da,” Bethy told him, immediately, and any vestige of smile that had been on Fenris’s face was gone as he turned to Hawke.  She sighed.  Heavily. 

“Before we fight, could we at least put Bethy to bed first?” she asked, and Fenris drew his brows together angrily, nearly scowling at her.  “Yes, Anders came by, yes, Anders is sad.  I had him eat and get a bath and he should be sleeping by now.”

“I don’t want the abomination here,” Fenris growled, moving to set Bethy down.  Bethy tugged on his tunic.

“Andes sad da.”

“I don’t care if Anders is sad,” he growled, which caused Bethy to tear up and sit down flat on her bottom.

“Fenris!” Hawke scolded, and he at least had the good grace to look ashamed at snapping.  “I don’t care if you don’t like Anders.  It’s my house, and he is welcome to stay here.”

“Then come live at my house, Hawke,” he said, sounding for all the world like someone who had just lost their best friend.  Hawke stared at him, mouth agape, and Fenris looked at the floor, hands curled into fists.

“And just where would Bethy live?  You’ve got corpses in the front foyer, Fenris.”

“Then… I will sell it, and buy a new house.  And you can live with me there.”

Bethy was sniffling by that point, and Hawke picked her up and cuddled the child against her chest.  Bethy peeked out at Fenris with those large, green eyes, and Fenris refused to meet her gaze. 

“This is new,” Hawke said.  “Since when have you wanted to sell your mansion?”

“I don’t need it,” Fenris said, not meeting either of their gazes.  “It is just a place where I stayed, Marian.  But if it means a home with you and Bethy that doesn’t involve the abomination….”

“I appreciate the thought, Fenris, but Anders doesn’t even stay here that often, and even if he did, I would still go by to see him.  He’s my friend.”

“Is that all?”  Fenris tilted his head up then, looked Hawke in the eyes.  “Is he still only your friend?”

She caught her breath, and then her face crumpled.  “Yes, Fenris.  You know that.  There’s nothing for you to be jealous over anymore.  I would have thought you over that by now.”  Fenris shrugged slightly, uncomfortably, and Bethy took that moment to sniffle more loudly, since she was not being the center of attention.

Hawke huffed an irritated breath.  “Could you at least see to Bethy?  She thinks you’re mad at her.”  She held the child out to Fenris, who seemed nearly as uncomfortable as he did that first time he held her.  But take her into his arms he did, and she sniffled a little bit more, for the dramatic effect, before Fenris managed to get her giggling.

“How does Anders inspire such loyalty with the Hawke females?” he asked, absently.

“Andes sad da,” Bethy said again, and Fenris simply sighed and nodded.

“Yes, he is, little one.  And he’s going to stay that way, because your mother is not going to be his and neither are you.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and grimaced, then left the two of them in the library together to check the door to the cellars, with the objective of ensuring the door was locked well.  Sometimes Anders forgot to lock it.  It was seen to this time, though, and, rather than facing Fenris again, Hawke went into the kitchen to start preparing dinner aside Orana.  The two women worked in companionable silence, Hawke cutting vegetables and Orana doing something that smelled delicious with meat and some sort of sauce.

They worked together for a while, and then Orana spoke up.

“Mistress—“

“Hawke.”

“Mistress Hawke.  If Messere Anders causes Messere Fenris such issues, why do you let him stay?”

Hawke sighed, deeply, and felt a headache blossom behind her left eye.  “Not you, too, Orana?”

The little maid blushed and shrugged sheepishly.  “I am simply curious.  You seem to love Messere Fenris a great deal and I’ve seen you go out of your way for him in other things.  But you let Messere Anders stay here.”

“It’s the right thing to do.  And Anders is my friend.  Besides, if I’m not keeping an eye on him, nobody will, and we can’t have that.  Not with his… situation.  You understand?”

“I do now.  But I’m not sure Messere Fenris does.”

“Fenris is jealous, and he has no reason to be, but there it is.”  The last of the carrots cut into long strips, Hawke gathered them together in the colander and brought them to the sink.  She gathered her mana and created a block of ice on top of them, then melted the ice, slowly, rinsing them off.  Fenris may be distrustful of magic, but for Hawke, that was her life, and she had learned to use her gifts to help her every day, in even the most mundane of ways.  Her mother used to say she was a godsend, because of all the little ways she figured out how to help out around the kitchen.  Cooking for five people, two or three meals a day, in their little house in Lothering… and before that, on the road, on the run.  Cleaning and farming and mending and….

Life was easier now, with servants, and money, and the fact that she didn’t have to run, or hide her power.  She was one of the few people in Thedas who could live openly, as an apostate.  If only all mages could be trusted with their magic, and if only all mages could live as freely as she did…

“Messere Fenris is a good man,” Orana said, after long moments had passed.

“He is,” Hawke agreed.

“Living in Tevinter… it is different.  You understand?”  Hawke did; Orana was talking about living as a slave.  Instead of answering, she nodded, and hummed in the affirmative.  “Some nights I wake up and think I am still in the Magister’s service.  I miss my papa, then, the most.”

“You never have to worry about going back to Tevinter, Orana.  You’re living here with me, and I will protect you.”

“I know that, Mistress Hawke.  But my old mistress is dead, and there is no one to hunt me.  If she were alive and wanted me back… I would live in fear, and treasure everything I had, and I might be afraid to lose it, too, even if I was sure it was mine.”

“Smart woman,” Hawke muttered, too low to be heard.  Louder, she said, “I see your point.  But you have nothing to fear, Orana, and Fenris has nothing to fear, either.  If Danarius comes for him, I will help Fenris kill him.  I’ve got no time for slavers.”

“You are kind, Mistress Hawke.  Not so many would be so kind.”

“I’m just selfish, Orana,” Hawke said, finishing rinsing the carrots and transferring them to a pan so that they could roast in the oven. 

It was quiet for several more long minutes, and then Fenris stuck his head in the kitchen, his body and Bethany following him.  “I was wondering where you had gotten to,” he said to Hawke. 

“The sooner dinner is ready, the sooner we can all eat it,” she told him, giving him a smile, which he returned, tremulously. 

“Cookie,” Bethy said, from her place in Fenris’s arms, and Fenris immediately shook his head and told her no at the same time Hawke did.

“I have a cookie for her, if it is allowed,” Orana said to Hawke, and Hawke shook her head, as well.

“No, she doesn’t need to be eating cookies.  She can eat carrots and chicken and potatoes like a big girl.  You are a big girl, aren’t you, Bethy?” she asked, her voice going up an octave.

“Beffy,” the child repeated, and then squealed a laugh.  “Beffy cookie, ma.”

“No, Bethany.  You do not get a cookie before dinner,” Hawke said, wiping her hands on a piece of toweling and moving on to the potatoes.  Orana was busy with the chickens.

“I will take her back into the library,” Fenris said, slowly.  “I simply… did not know where you had gone.”

“Just helping with dinner,” Hawke repeated, giving him another smile, and he met her eyes for this one, smiling back.  If there were any arguments between them, they would discuss them later, like adults, instead of yelling at each other like uncivilized children.

Soon, all that was left for dinner was for it to actually cook, and Orana made herself scarce, doing whatever it was that she seemed to find pleasure in (this week was knitting, apparently; Hawke was hoping to teach her how to read and write better, but Orana always begged off, as if afraid of the failure and disappointing Hawke when she tried) while the chickens, carrots, and potatoes were going.  Hawke was washing up her hands when she turned around and Anders was suddenly there.  She gasped and started, her hand going to her heart, and Anders jumped back slightly, too, looking equally started.

“Anders!  I’d have thought you’d be sleeping still,” she said, trying to keep her voice down so as not to alert Fenris to Anders’s actual awake presence there.

“I slept as much as I could.  I smelled something good cooking.”

“All the way down there?” she asked, incredulously.

He shrugged slightly.  “If Fenris doesn’t mind, do you think I could stay for dinner?  I missed more meals than I thought I did.”

“Of course, you can stay for dinner!” she said, without even thinking of consulting Fenris.  It was her home, after all.  “But we do need to let Fenris know so he won’t be so…jumpy.”

“I’ll leave that to you, shall I?  Maker, that smells good,” he said, and Hawke sighed and realized that it was now or never. 

Anders following in her wake, she made her way to the library, where Fenris was in one of the chairs, holding a book and Bethy.  He looked up when he heard her get close enough (damn those sensitive elven ears!) and frowned when he took in the tall, blonde mage behind her.

“Anders,” he said, putting the book down.  Bethy turned to look at them and waved at both.

“Andes sad da,” she said to her father, earnestly.  Fenris sighed and put his face in his hand. 

“I can’t fight against both of you,” he growled.  “Let me guess: he’s staying for dinner?”

“Yes, he asked if he could stay,” Hawke said, pointedly.  Anders was fidgeting behind her and she nudged him with her elbow.

“Er.  Yes.  Sorry, Fenris.  I know how you like family dinners, but I was hoping I could intrude—“

“I do not see why my opinion suddenly matters.  It is Hawke’s home, as has been made abundantly clear,” he said, voice rising in anger.  Something about that statement struck out at Hawke, and she filed it away, mentally, to go over later.

“Fenris, if you don’t want Anders to stay I’ll pack him up something to eat and he can go back down to the clinic,” she said, suddenly.  It wasn’t at all what she had meant to say, but the idea occurred to her so suddenly that she felt nearly struck by lightning. 

“I…”  Fenris glanced between the two of them, and the fight seemed to go out of him a little bit.  “It is your home, Hawke.  If you want to invite the abomination to dinner, that is up to you.”  He set Bethy down on the floor and stood up, straightening his clothes.  “I will find somewhere else to eat tonight.”

“Fenris, you don’t have to do that—“

Fenris glared at Anders, his look deflating a little bit when it reached Hawke.  “I cannot fight you both, Hawke.  I will not fight you both.  If you wish Anders here, then by all means, have him stay.  I will go back to my mansion for the night.  There is surely still food available in the marketplace.”

“Now you’re trying to make her feel guilty,” Anders said, crossing his arms over his chest.  “I can’t believe you’d treat your partner that way.”

“I am not trying to make her feel anything, abomination,” Fenris growled, elbowing past the taller man.  “It is her home and she is welcome to invite whomever she likes to dine at it.”

“Fenris…” Hawke began.  This wasn’t what she wanted at all.  “Fenris, I’ll just make up something for Anders to take down to the clinic, alright?  Stay here, with Bethy.”  This looked like a battle she was surely going to lose if she didn’t play her cards correctly, and Hawke wasn’t sure what game they were playing.  “Come on, Anders,” she said, grabbing the mage by his too-thin elbow and dragging him along in her wake to the kitchens.  She looked behind herself, once, to make sure that Fenris wasn’t leaving and that Bethy had someone supervising her; Fenris was standing in the doorway of the library, watching after her with an unreadable expression.

Once they were in the kitchen, Hawke set about getting Anders food together.  Bread, salted meat, cheese, pickles.  His Warden appetite could be huge, and saw him put away all kinds of manner of foods, and if he were this hungry again, he truly hadn’t been eating all that well.

“I can’t believe you let him treat you like that,” Anders said, repeating what he had said before.  Hawke closed her eyes.

“I don’t want to argue about this with anyone, Anders, much less you.  Fenris and I are fine together unless you come up.  He doesn’t even argue with me about mages and mage rights.  Just you.  He’s jealous of you, still.”

“I wish he had reason to be,” Anders said, in a soft voice.

“Well, he doesn’t.  I’m sorry, Anders, but that’s just the truth.”

“I’ve… got something coming up, in a couple of days.  I was wondering if you would help me out with it, Hawke.  I don’t want to cause more fight between you and Fenris, but it’s not something I can do alone.  It would be even better if you could bring Varric and Isabela with you.”

“What’s this that’s come up?  You know I need more details than that.”

“Need to know basis, sweetheart.  But if you don’t think you can get away from Fenris long enough…”

“I’m not going to lie to Fenris so that I can help you do some sort of shady Mage Underground work.”

“Then forget I asked,” Anders said, pouting.  “I’ll see if Varric and ‘Bela are up for it.”

“Anders, I’ll help you, just don’t ask me to lie to Fenris about it!”

“I can’t trust Fenris, Hawke.  I can’t trust him, that he won’t turn us in.”

“How long has he known you and he hasn’t turned you in yet?” Hawke asked, incredulously, shoving the bag of food into Anders’s hands.

“It doesn’t matter.  I’ll just ask Varric and Isabela.  They’ll help.”

“Anders….”

“Good night, Hawke,” he said, and slipped out of the kitchen with the bag of food in his hands, leaving behind the scent of elfroot potions and ozone magic that he usually did.  Hawke sighed and shook her head, then headed back into the library.

“He’s gone,” she said into the room, only then noticing Fenris on the floor with Bethy, holding up Chauncey and making funny sounds through the bear at the child.  It was quite a humorous sight, and Hawke had to cover her mouth to stifle the laughter.

“Hawke, you did not need to make him leave.  If you wanted him to stay and be your guest for the evening, that is your prerogative,” Fenris said, handing the bear over to Bethy and standing up.

“Fenris, I don’t want you to feel like you’re second choice,” Hawke told him, crossing the room to stand before the elf.  Fenris had his head ducked down, his hair falling into his eyes as he did when he was having feelings he wasn’t sure about.  Hawke tilted his chin up and made him look at her.  “Hey.  I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Fenris agreed, voice soft.

“You don’t have anything to be jealous about, Fenris.  I chose you.  I am yours, remember?”

“I know,” came the barely whispered reply.

“So start acting like it,” Hawke said, tilting forward to brush her lips against his.  Fenris’s arms went around her, pulling her tight against him, his mouth opening before her lips, tasting her mouth with his tongue.  Hawke was surprised by how passionate the kiss got so quickly, but she slid her arms around Fenris’s shoulders and went on tiptoe in order to kiss him better.  He dropped one hand down to grip her rear, and then, suddenly startled, dropped her down onto her heels when Bethy using his leggings to pull herself up on him.

“Da sad? Cookie?”

He laughed softly then and bent down to ruffle her hair.  “Da is not sad, Bethy.  And no, you do not get a cookie.”

“Beffy cookie sad da,” said the child, and then she sighed and went over to Chauncey, to tell him about the ills of being a child with two such mean parents who would not give her a cookie.  Fenris laughed again, and Hawke’s laughter joined his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's keeping track of the date, this chapter takes place about halfway through Guardian, 9:36 Dragon. Bethy is 13 months old at this point, and it's the second month of the new year. This calendar ( http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Calendar ) has been of more help to me than I'd like to admit! I use it every single chapter, to keep track of things.
> 
> So there you go, just in case you wanted to keep track of things, too.


	32. And So Two Months Pass....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke helps Aveline with her dress. Varric arranges a surprise couples Wicked Grace night. Bethy has her 15-month checkup.

“Isabela!” Hawke shouted, moving forward as slowly, yet as quickly, as she possibly could.  “Daggers are _not_ child friendly!”

“Relax, Hawke.  She’ll have to learn to use them sooner or later.  Won’t you, my girl?”

“Cookie Bela?”

“Of course you can have a cookie, sweet thing,” Isabela said, pulling one out of the bag that she had stuffed in her belt…somehow. 

“’Bela!  We’re trying to keep her from having all those cookies.  She’ll beg you to death for them.”

“The little kitten deserves all the cookies she can get.  She can’t hoard gold right now, after all,” Isabela replied, with a smug grin.  “So she gets the cookies.”

“Okay, listen, just… don’t give her the daggers, and _don’t_ tell Fenris about all the cookies.”

“Why?  Do you think he’ll want some, too?”

“Maker, no!  But I think it might give him ideas about when she starts going on about Anders being sad.”

“Is he still coming around with that hangdog expression on his face?  Sweet thing, you know he’s just doing that to make you feel bad, right?”

“Well, I can’t say it doesn’t work all the time….”

“How can you have men trouble when you’re already practically married to tall, dark, and broody?” Isabela laughed, and handed Bethy another cookie.  When she saw the cookie coming, Bethy’s eyes widened and she opened and closed her hands greedily, reaching up for it.  Hawke sighed and shook her head; there would be no getting a proper dinner into this child tonight, if Isabela kept up like that.  At least the daggers were put away.

“I don’t have man trouble,” Hawke protested, picking up Bethy and removing her from the zone of cookie temptation.  “I’ve got _a_ man.  One.  Singular.”

“Oh, no, poppet, you’ve got two.  You just acknowledge one.”

“…. maybe if we manage to get Anders to the Blooming Rose….”

“Do you think Justice would let him have a bit of fun?”

“Maybe he’d forget about me.”

“You’re pretty enough, I’ll give you that, but I don’t see what’s got the men lining up for a taste of you.”

“Anders already had a taste,” Hawke admitted, with a scarlet flush that went from her hairline to her chest.

“No!” Isabela gasped.  “And you didn’t tell me because….?”

“Because it never came up?  I don’t know, ‘Bela.  It was one of the times he visited in Grunding, when I was pregnant with Bethy.  Before Fenris… made his mind up, or whatever he did.”

“You and Anders, eh?  Was he good?  I remember that electricity trick that he did at The Pearl….”

Hawke’s blush, if anything, deepened.  Isabela chortled with laughter.

“Oh, I’ve got to hang this over your head, you know that, right?”

“What, that I’ve slept with two men?  Two?  In my entire life?”  She flopped down on the sofa and took the cookie away from Bethy long enough to take a bite of it.  Bethy frowned at her.

“No, ma.  Sheer.”

“I was sharing, darling.  You were sharing.  Thank you so much for sharing.”  Bethy stuffed the rest of the cookie into her mouth as quickly as she was able to.  It mainly crumbled all down her front and onto the sofa.  Hawke whistled for Hero, moving over so he could get to the crumbs.  Dogs were certainly good for one thing, with a toddler around the house!

“That you slept with _Anders_ , you goose.  I can’t believe you!”

“Well, I was technically single, at the time.”

“Single and pregnant.  You dirty girl.  I never knew you had it in you.”  Isabela’s eyes widened and then she laughed uproariously.  “Well, at least, I’d hope _you_ knew…. Well…. You know,” she finished, still laughing.

“You tell the most off-color jokes, Isabela,” Hawke said.  Hero waffled and made for the doorway to the library, and Hawke glanced over, smiling to see the Guard-Captain making her way in there.  “Aveline!  You’re just in time!”

“For the off-color jokes, apparently,” Aveline said, smiling.  “Hawke, whore, good to see you both.”  Isabela preened and Hawke gestured for Aveline to come in and sit down.

“Are you ready?”  Hawke asked her, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.  “They’ll be here soon.”

“You’ll need to get out of that armor, Big Girl.  They can’t take measurements in armor.  And then we’ll get to see what you look like under all that big, shiny metal,” Isabela said, with a  leer.

“Why is she here again?” Aveline asked, but sighed and started unbuckling her breastplate.  “Hawke, do you have those plainclothes I left here, still?”

“You keep getting that armor off and I’ll run and get them,” Hawke promised, setting Bethy on the floor with a stern look at Isabela.

It was an exciting day, although Hawke still wasn’t certain why Isabela was there.  Probably because it offered the most entertainment with the least amount of trouble.  Hawke had invited the best dressmaker in Kirkwall over, to do measurements for Aveline’s wedding gown.  It was, she knew, a properly feminine thing to be doing, and thus all the males were banished from the house.  Orana was in the kitchen, working up the last of the little finger foods that Hawke would make sure to have out.  One did not invite the best seamstress in Kirkwall over without showing _some_ sort of hospitality, Champion or no.  Besides, maybe one day it would be her turn to get fitted for a dress, and the goodwill would extend to her, then.

Bethy was shoving another cookie in her mouth and Aveline was mostly out of her armor by the time Hawke returned with the plain brown dress.  “Here, Aveline,” she said.  “I still had it.”

“Good.  Thank you, Hawke,” Aveline said, taking the dress.  “I’ll just finish up in your wash room, if that’s okay.”

“You don’t have anything we haven’t seen before, Captain Man-Hands,” Isabela said, which earned her an eyeroll from Aveline.

“Maybe not you and Hawke, but I’m sure the rest of Hightown would appreciate it if I didn’t get naked in Hawke’s library.  They can see in here, you know.”

“Oooo, that could only make you _more_ popular!” Isabela said, chortling, and earning herself another eyeroll. 

“I’ll be back down in a few minutes,” she said, and, indeed, it was just a few minutes before she came back down wearing the plain brown dress.

“I didn’t even know you had any dresses,” Hawke told her, teasingly.  “I thought you were all guard uniforms and trousers.”

“It’s one leftover from Ferelden,” Aveline said, and the catch in her voice told Hawke that the dress was more than just a dress.

“It’s lovely.  It does look lovely on you.  You should wear it more often,” Hawke told her.

“Maybe I should,” was the only reply.  Aveline seemed uncomfortable sitting in the dress, and standing in the dress, and Hawke felt the need to keep her guests entertained until the seamstress arrived, which was, luckily, not long after Aveline put on the brown dress.

The entire affair couldn’t rightly be called a debacle, because it went fairly well.  However, with Isabela making semi-rude comments, and Hawke attempting to play peacemaker between herself, the seamstress, Aveline, and Isabela, Hawke was certainly glad when the measurements were done and it was time to choose the fabrics.

“Blue,” Hawke said.  “It’s got to be a blue dress.”

Lady Lancre tilted her head to the side and took in Aveline’s coloring.  “Blue?  Well, it’s for a summer wedding, but wouldn’t green be a more flattering coloring? With that hair, those eyes, that skin…”

“Blue.” Hawke said again.  “I know you’ve got to have some deeper blue shades.”

“Hmm.  Let me see,” Lady Lancre said, and flipped through her fabric swatches until she came to the blue ones.  “None of these…. Wait…”  She held up a swatch that was a shiny, royal blue.  “This would look perfect on the Guard-Captain.”

“You don’t think it’s too…. Blue…?” Aveline asked, shyly.  Hawke was taken aback; this was only the second time she had seen Aveline shy about anything, and the first time was when she was courting Donnic to begin with!

“I think it’s perfect,” Hawke said.  And it was.  A very shiny, deep, royal blue.  “Satin?  And silk, I trust?”

“Of course, Champion.  Only the best for the Guard-Captain.”

“Splendid.  Then I will see you back here in… three days?  Is that good?”  She looked to Aveline, who shrugged, and to Lady Lancre, who nodded politely.

“I will be by with the fabric and we can do the first pinning then.  You’ll need to be down to your smalls, of course,” she told Aveline, which only made the woman blush.  “Are you sure about the design?”

“Aveline?”  Hawke asked.  “It’s your dress.”

“The pattern that we picked out in the shop looked lovely,” Aveline said.  “I’m very happy with that one.

“Then it seems like we’re all set,” Hawke said, standing and straightening out the skirts of her robes.  “We will see you back here in three days, Lady Lancre.”

“Oh, but we’re missing out on the best part,” Isabela interjected, standing quickly.  “She needs something for the _honeymoon.”_

* * *

“And you’re sure you don’t mind babysitting?”  Hawke asked Varric, straightening her robes over her hips.  Behind her, Fenris seemed to be changing his mind about their going out at all.

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I minded, Hawke,” Varric said, patting her on the shoulder in a most companionable sort of manner.  “You and Broody need to get out of the house together in a way that doesn’t involve killing people.”

“If she is not well when we return, dwarf, you will be the next person I kill,” Fenris warned, in a near growl.

“Wicked Grace won’t be as fun without you, you know,” Hawke said to him.  “We can always get Orana and Bodahn to watch her and all of us go ahead and go out now.”

“No, you two go on without me.  It’s time I spent a little quality time with my niece, anyway, isn’t it, Bethy?”

“Unca cookie ya?”

“Uncle Varric’s got all the cookies, sweetheart.”

“No, Varric,” Hawke said, holding out her hands.  “No more cookies.  You all are simply ruining her dinners.”

“Go, Hawke.  Have fun.”  Varric veritably pushed them out the door, but not before Hawke grabbed her staff.  She sighed and shared a look with Fenris, who shrugged.

“I guess Varric can’t be any worse than Isabela, right?  And she came away alive and perfectly healthy from that,” Hawke said, simply to have something to say.

“I suppose,” Fenris replied, and they began walking towards Lowtown, The Hanged Man as their main destination.

They had cleared out the most recent street gangs and so the walk there was quiet, except for other travelers who were out on the streets, simply going from one destination to another.  At The Hanged Man itself, Hawke stopped and ordered drinks from Corff, then asked him to have them delivered up to Varric’s suite.

“Varric’s not here,” Corff warned.

“I know.  He said we could use his suite for Wicked Grace, anyway.”  She dangled the key and Corff shrugged; his part of the business transaction was concluded and his warning was given.

Not that they needed the key; Merrill and Isabela were already in Varric’s palatial suite, the two of them giggling over something in a book together. 

“Hello, you two,” Hawke said, propping her staff up in the corner beside Merrill’s, who gave her a wave, and Isabela called out a greeting to the two of them.  “So, is it just us for Wicked Grace tonight?”

“Aveline’s going to come by, with Donnic,” Isabela said, grinning.  “She’s going to lose and he’s going to see just how irritated she gets when she loses.  One sovereign says that she hits him before the night’s out.”

“That’s a fool’s bet,” Fenris said, taking his usual seat.  “She’s played Diamondback with me and Donnic a few times.  One sovereign says she loses her temper before the first hour is up.”

“Is that why you never invite me to your Diamondback games?” Hawke asked, settling beside him.  “Am I as sore a loser as Aveline is?”

“You’re fine, Hawke,” he said, flatly.  “Donnic and I just appreciate having some time by ourselves, without our…female companions there to accompany us.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Isabela said, voice low and pitched conspiratorially.  “I heard that they really go up to the Blooming Rose—“

“I do not,” Fenris replied, scowling at Isabela.  “And if you continue to spread such slander, I will take Hawke and we will go home.”  Hawke glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.  That touched a nerve.  Was he going to the Rose?

“We don’t go to the Rose,” Donnic said, as he and Aveline came in.  “But sometimes we do go out and get drinks.”

“Someplace _other_ than The Hanged Man?” Hawke gasped with false affront. 

“Easing the Badger,” Fenris said, ducking down low in his chair and hiding his face from Hawke’s view.  “It is…. Worse than The Hanged Man.”

“It is,” Donnic agreed.  “But sometimes it’s good to go where nobody knows your name.”

“Are we that horrible, that you have to get away from us?” Hawke asked.

“They just want their ‘man time,’ Hawke.  Cheer up.  We can start doing ladies nights, if you want.”

“That kind of thing is for married women,” Isabela said, folding her arms under her breasts and rolling her eyes.  “We should do something fun, ourselves, if they’re going to be out doing fun things.”

“You mean like have couples Wicked Grace?” Aveline asked, smirking.

“But we’re not a couple,” Isabela objected, and when all eyes went to Merrill, the little Dalish flushed brightly under her _vallaslin_.

“So.  Couple’s night Wicked Grace.”  Hawke shook her head and rolled her eyes.  “This should be good.  I wonder if Varric planned this…”

“Of course he planned it,” Fenris said, from down in his seat beside her.  “But would you have come had he told you?”

Hawke pinched him lightly on the arm.  “Of course I’d have come.  It would be getting Isabela to admit that she’s got a thing for Merrill that would be the hard part.” 

Fenris sat up a little bit and glanced in the direction of the two women.  Merrill was sitting on Isabela’s lap, laughing about something the other woman had said, and ‘Bela was watching Merrill laugh with a nearly predatory gleam in her eyes.

“I don’t think I really want to know, but I wonder how that works with my brother.”

“Your brother the templar, in a relationship with a pirate and an elven blood mage.  I wonder what the other recruits say?”

“Probably something like ‘you lucky bastard, you’ve got two women’?  I don’t know, he probably doesn’t mention them because of the whole blood magic issue.”

“You have me there,” Fenris said.  Norah came bustling in with their drinks then, the weak, watered-down ale that The Hanged Man was best known for.  Hawke made sure to slip her some silver and let her know to keep the drinks coming.  Norah just shrugged and grimaced.  Despite being some of The Hanged Man’s best customers, Norah never seemed to warm up to Hawke and her crew, although Hawke could never figure out why.  Perhaps it was all the bar fights they wound up in.

Shortly afterwards, the card game started.  Hawke was never better than a middling Wicked Grace player during the best of times, and tonight she was concerned about Varric taking care of Bethany, and Isabela had set herself out to prove that she wasn’t in a couple, thank you very much, and therefore Hawke quickly found herself hemorrhaging coin to the busty pirate. 

It did take less than an hour before Aveline got irritated with her hand and snapped at Donnic, which caused Fenris to get a few coins, himself.  That only made Aveline more irritated, and she had to excuse herself to go calm down before she arrested the lot of them on the charge “loitering with intent.”  What _that_ meant, Hawke had no idea, but she figured Aveline needed the cooling off period nonetheless, and Aveline didn’t argue.

Before the night got too late, however, and before either she or Fenris drank too much, Hawke bid everyone a good evening and said she had to get back to Bethy.  Isabela tried to guilt them into staying longer, but Hawke was anxious to get back and relieve Varric.  It wasn’t that she truly thought Varric would do anything horrible; after all, watching a child, even a small one, wasn’t all that difficult, and Bethy was a good child, to begin with.  However, she was worried about Bethy being too much for _Varric_ to handle, and that he might have too much going on and, perhaps, might need to be relieved of his sacred duties.  It was a relief to her that Fenris seemed as anxious to get home as she did, and so they bid everyone good night and took off, just slightly quicker than a normal walk, back up to Hawke’s estate in Hightown.

Most of the lights were already off, telling her that Orana, Bodahn, and Sandal had already gone to bed.  Hero met them at the door, waffling and trying to get his big paws up on her chest in a doggy hug, which she kept trying to discourage but never seemed to succeed at doing.  They made their way into the library, where Varric was cuddled up with Bethy in one of the big armchairs, reading to her from one of the many books of fairy stories that they had collected over the year.  The two of them looked incredibly happy and comfortable, and Hawke felt a moment of sadness that she was about to interrupt them.  However, Bethy yawned, and Varric followed suit, and she announced her presence to the room in general.

“Hello, Varric.  Hi, Bethy.  Did you two have fun?”

“We had a blast, Hawke.  How did Couples Wicked Grace go?”

“I’m not sure Isabela realized she was there as part of a couple,” Fenris said, as Hawke picked Bethy up and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, she and Daisy…. And Junior,” Varric added, somewhat perplexed.

“Yes.  We don’t know how it happened, either,” Hawke said, with a laugh. 

“Well, the kid was good, and she loves listening to Uncle Varric talk,” he told them, and ruffled up Bethy’s short, dark hair.  “You’re a good girl.  And no telling mommy how many cookies you ate, either, okay?”

“Cookie?” Bethy asked, holding out her hand.

“No more cookies for you tonight,” Hawke said, sternly.  “Really.  You’re all going to ruin her forever if you keep giving her these cookies.”

“You know what they say, Hawke.”

“Give Hawke’s child a cookie so she won’t eat her dinner?”  Varric laughed and even Fenris managed a smile.

“Something like that.  So, I’ll see you around, I guess.”

“Do you need an escort back down to The Hanged Man?” she asked him, suddenly concerned for his well-being.

“I’ve got Bianca to walk me, as always.  You guys take care.  We have to do this again sometime.”  He sauntered out, making sure to pick up his crossbow on the way, and Fenris saw him to the door.

“It’s past your bedtime,” Hawke said to Bethy, carrying her upstairs.  “It’s sleepy time for little girls.”

“Unca cookie,” Bethy told her.

“I know!” Hawke said, laughing.  “And Aunt Isabela.  Aunt Merrill’s going to wind up giving you cookies, too, isn’t she?  Does Uncle Anders sneak you cookies when he drops by?”

“Andes sad,” Bethy said, sticking out her lower lip in a pout.

“Did Uncle Anders come by when we were out?  Don’t tell da, okay?”

“Da sad?”

“Something like that.”  She set Bethy down in the middle of the nursery, then rummaged through the drawer to pull out a nightgown.  “Here we go.” 

It was the work of moments to get Bethy changed and in her crib, and a kiss pressed to the top of her head.  Fenris found his way in the room and gave her a similar kiss, and then they were backing out of the room and closing the door most of the way shut.  Hawke could hear Bethy in there babbling to herself and to her bear Chauncey.

* * *

“You’re going to behave with him in here, right?”  Hawke asked Fenris, pointedly.

“I will not say anything to the abomination that you do not wish me to say,” Fenris agreed, although a touch sullenly, Hawke believed.  Still, it was better to get him to agree than to fight on the subject. 

For it was time for Bethy’s fifteenth month checkup, and that meant that Anders would be making a special stop by the Hawke estate to give her said checkup.  And it was not something that Fenris would allow himself to be left out of, just as he refused to be left out of Hawke’s checkups while she was pregnant.  Or rather, refused to be left out of as many as possible.  There were those that he was kicked out for.

In order to make the checkup the least ordeal possible, Hawke was set up in the nursery, and had Bethy stripped down to just her nappie.  Anders would be there any moment, and Bethy was enjoying the relative freedom that came with being mostly naked and a toddler, running around and screeching happily.  Fenris was standing beside the door, already in an unhappy stance, with his arms folded across his chest.  Hawke was sitting in the rocking chair.

“Hello,” came a voice from the doorway, and Fenris shrank away from it, ducking his head down but unable to hide the scowl on his face.  Bethy shrieked in delight and ran over to where Anders was standing, raising her arms up to him and calling for “Andes” to pick her up.

He did so, laughing, which caused Bethy to laugh, as she examined the stubble on his cheeks.  Every time Anders held her, she seemed fascinated by his facial hair, and then would inevitably compare Fenris’s smooth cheeks to Anders’s stubbled ones in a blatantly obvious manner that was, to Hawke, endearing, and to Fenris, irritating.

“Hello, Anders,” Hawke said, rising from the rocking chair.  “Looks like somebody has missed you.”

“Andes sad,” Bethy said, and Anders shook his head.

“No, I’m pretty happy today, because I get to see you!” he said, tossing her up in the air a little bit, to a peal of squealing laughter. Hawke smiled along, but Fenris did not bother hiding his displeasure, or his jealousy.  Hawke wondered how the man could continue to be jealous when he was practically living in her home, with her and _their_ daughter, who adored him to no small end.  But then, she supposed Orana was right; he was afraid of losing the things he had, regardless of how unrealistic the idea of that loss would be. 

“So, let’s sit down, serah Hawke, and see how many piggy toes you have today,” Anders said, sitting with Bethy on the floor.  Bethy held out her feet and wiggled her toes, and laughed as Anders tickled them as he counted.  Hawke took the time to slip over to Fenris and slide an arm around his back.  He stiffened slightly, and then relaxed nearly imperceptibly.

“She still likes you best, you know,” she said, voice low.

“I know that,” came the curt reply. 

“You just seem to forget.”  He made no reply to that, but neither did he withdraw from her, so Hawke counted that for a victory.

“Look at your tummy, getting so big!” Anders was saying to Bethy.  “Too many cookies, serah Hawke.  You must not eat so many cookies.  Then you won’t eat the good food that mommy and Orana make for you.”

“Cookie,” Bethy said, seriously, and held out her hand to Anders.

“Oh no, messere, you won’t get a cookie from me.  You’ll have to ask mommy; I’m afraid she would be rather cross with me if I started feeding you cookies like I know aunt Isabela and uncle Varric do.”

“Andes sad.  Cookie sad.”

“Oh, you want to give _me_ a cookie?  Well, then, thank you.”  He pretended to take the cookie and eat it, and Bethy watched with her wide green eyes, amazed that an adult would do such a thing.  When she held her hand back out for the cookie, Anders dusted his hands off and held them up, showing they were empty.  “All gone.  You should watch who you give your cookies to.”

It was like that for the majority of the examination, and it was good, to Hawke’s mind, that Bethy was already so familiar with Anders, because she had no problem being good during the whole thing.  It was almost as if it were a game to her, and it probably was, she conceded to herself.

Once the exam was over, Anders stood up and left Bethy sitting on the floor with Chauncey, babbling away.  Hero had slunk in, at one point, and was trying to make his presence known to the child; he wanted pettings, and knew she was good for them.

“She seems just fine to me, Hawke.  You and Fenris are doing a good job with her.”  Hawke felt it was strategically sound of him to call Fenris’s good parenting into the equation, but it did not stop the glaring.

“The cookies aren’t really a problem, are they?” she asked.

“Not really.  Most little kids have a sweet tooth.  She’s just lucky enough that she’s got aunts and uncles who are willing and able to indulge it.  So long as she’s eating the other foods you’re giving her, though, I don’t see a problem with it.”

“That’s the problem,” Hawke told him.  “Everyone keeps giving her cookies and she’s not wanting to eat dinner.”

“I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with them, then.  Maybe we can get the cookies down to just sometimes instead of always being expected.  She’s doing great with talking, though, and she’s got a new tooth coming in that’s going to give you all fits for a while.”

“That explains the drooling,” Fenris put in, which surprised Hawke; he usually stayed out of these discussions, since he could rarely pass a civil word with Anders.

“If you can get her a rag and wrap it around a piece of ice, that would probably help.  She can chew on it and it would make her gums feel better.  Other than that, she’s a perfectly healthy fifteen-month-old girl.”

“You can’t… tell about her mage powers, can you?”  Hawke asked.

“You mean, can you tell this early if they’re going to be a mage?  No, most mage abilities don’t manifest until the child is at least six.  In fact, most abilities seem more tied in with puberty, or the stage right before puberty, from what I know of it.  Mine manifested much later than normal, but most children were brought to the circle between about six years old and about ten years old.”

“So, there’s no way of telling until she just sets the curtains on fire one day,” Hawke said.

Anders laughed.  “Is that what you did?  Set the curtains on fire?”

“That was Bethany.  I won’t say what I did, or else I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Well, setting the curtains on fire would actually be pretty typical.  It’s usually fire that first develops, and it’s usually fire that’s the easiest for any mage to do.”  He shuffled his feet a little bit, and said, almost apologetically to Fenris, “I know you don’t like talking about mages and magic, and you’re not comfortable with it, but with as much magic as Hawke has in her family, it’s a very real possibility that Bethy is going to be a mage.”

“Then it is all the more important for me to know these things, abomination,” Fenris said, maintaining his scowl.  “I am not leaving Hawke or Bethy simply because she develops magic.”

“Well,” Anders said, obviously uncomfortable talking to Fenris and about said topic to Fenris, “I just thought you should know.  So you can be prepared.”

Hawke laid her hand on Anders’s arm and squeezed it slightly.  “Thank you, Anders.  It’s good for me to know.  You can’t know too much and be too prepared for a mage child, after all.”

“You do realize,” he said, “that with your position, that’s the only thing keeping you out of the Gallows.  If Bethy were to show magic, they’d take her away from you as quickly as if they knew she’s your natural daughter.”

“I’d like to see them try it,” Fenris growled.  Hawke sighed, and patted Fenris on the shoulder.

“We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said, glancing over to where Bethy was pulling on Hero’s ears.  Hero seemed to be enjoying it well enough, as he was wagging his stubby tail as hard as he could.  “For now, we’ll just enjoy what we have, right?”  No response from Fenris, but a friendly smile from Anders.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to grab some lunch before I head back to the clinic.  If that’s okay?” he asked Hawke.

“Sure.  Orana’s got plenty prepared downstairs; you go ahead and eat your fill.  I’ll talk to you later, okay, Anders?”

“Thanks.  See you, Hawke.”  And with that, Anders jogged downstairs.

Hawke turned to Fenris, who had his eyes trained on Bethy.  “See?  That wasn’t so bad.”

“It was…. Not as bad as I expected it to be,” he agreed, slowly.

“I wish you and Anders would at least try to get along.  For my sake.  For Bethy’s sake.”

“It’s… difficult, Marian.  I cannot like the abomination, and I feel he brings a threat into our home, with his activities with the Mage Underground.  I cannot like him and I cannot like the threat he represents.”

“So, is this still about him, or is it about him helping mages get free?”

“ _Fasta vass_ , I could not care less about his helping mages get free, except that it draws attention to you from the Knight-Commander, and that I cannot stand.  I do not want to lose you, or Bethy.  I have to keep you safe, and protected.  Do you not understand, Marian?”  He looked at her then, and his green eyes shone with anguish.

“Oh, Fenris,” she sighed, and rested her head against his chest.  “Everything is going to work out fine.  I promise.  After all, the city would riot if Meredith arrested me and tried to put me into the Gallows.  One good thing about being the Champion is that I’ve got favors owed to me from just about every noble still in the city and half the common folk as well.  You worry too much.”

“And you do not worry enough,” he said, put placed his hand on her back and held her tightly against him.  “I worry.  For us.”


	33. Going to the Chantry and We're Gonna Get Married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Aveline's big day, and Hawke and company are there for her!

Hawke’s home was a vision of orange and white, from bunting, to ribbons, to flowers.  She had spared no expense, and left out no corner from her decorating fury, and everywhere in the estate one could see marigolds, orange poppy, and white roses adorning _everything._ Where there were not flowers, there were orange and white satin ribbons done into large bows.  It almost looked too much, and it almost clashed with the Amell red crest, but it wasn’t, and it didn’t.  It looked like the household was getting ready for a wedding, which is exactly what they were doing.

There ceremony itself was set for the garden, with the reception to be held both inside and outside in the garden both.  There were so many people on the guest list that Hawke did away with the idea of chairs for everyone and instead had set out only a few rows, for the most distinguished of the guests and the elderly who needed seats.  The marriage of the Captain of the Guard of Kirkwall, someone with actual power in the city, was a big deal, and it was rumored that the Knight-Commander herself would be there, as well as the Grand Cleric.  Rumors only, but with those rumors came in responses to the invitations in droves: _Yes, I gratefully accept your invitation, and I will be bringing so many guests with me_.

Hawke had requisitioned her room as _the_ room, for the bride to prepare herself in.  Considering it was her house, and her rules, no one thought to argue with this, and, truthfully, Aveline had quite a gown that she needed to change into.

Change she did, behind the privacy screen in Hawke’s room, while Isabela sat back in her own surprisingly modest gown, drinking a jigger of whiskey, and Hawke finished putting the tiniest of satin bows in Bethy’s hair.

“Are you ready yet, Aveline?  Do you need any more help lacing up?”

“I… I am not quite prepared for this,” the Guard-Captain said, nervously.

“Nonsense, Big Girl.  You’re going to do great,” Isabela said, toasting with the whiskey.  “Now come on out and let us see what all our hard work has done.

Aveline stepped out behind the privacy screen, and Hawke’s jaw dropped.

The dress came off the shoulders, with long, gauzy sleeves in a white that flattered the deep royal blue satin that made up the rest of the gown.  The sleeves flowed down to her fingertips, caught up by deep blue ribbons at the elbows, and white ribbons laced the back of the bodice.  The skirts fell into a long train that trailed behind Aveline, gathered with more white satin ribbons at the waist, for decoration.  Aveline’s hair was done up in a flattering Orlesian-style braid and it hung down to her shoulders, swaying as she walked.  Hawke had not known Aveline had pierced ears, but small silver hoops adorned her lobes and matched the silver necklace around her neck.  Aveline was every inch the beautiful summer bride, and the colors suited her well, surprisingly.  The slight flush on Aveline’s cheeks said she knew what a sight she made in her wedding gown.

“Oh, Aveline,” Hawke sighed, clasping her hands together at her mouth.  “You look… so lovely!”  
“None of my guards are going to take me seriously, after this,” Aveline said, deflecting the compliment.

“Don’t be absurd,” Isabela told her, leaning back in her chair and swirling the dark whiskey about in her glass.  “Now they’ll see you as a person, too.  They’re not going to lose respect for you because you wore a wedding dress!”

“Aun Abbie?” Bethy asked, toddling to where Aveline was standing, skirts in hand.

“Oh no you don’t, little one!” Hawke cried out, grabbing for her daughter before grubby hands could touch the satiny blue skirts of the gown.  “Let me see if Orana can watch her,” Hawke said, excusing herself from the room.

As luck would have it, Orana was able to watch Bethany, and Hawke set the task to her for the rest of the foreseeable day.  With so many guests, Orana had, frankly, gotten a bit lost in the shuffle, there being too much to do and not enough at the same time.  She was grateful to have an important, singular task to take care of.

Back in her room, Isabela had obviously shared some of her whiskey with Aveline, for the Guard-Captain’s flush had backed down to more “flush of alcohol” and less “glow of bride.”  Isabela had also abandoned her chair and Aveline was perched precariously on it, making a valiant attempt to not wrinkle the silk-and-satin skirting and train.  Hawke was, quite frankly, surprised to not see her friend pacing.  Aveline was quite good at pacing, and usually, Hawke had to tell her to calm down before she wore a hole in the floor.

“So, are you ready?” she asked Aveline, smoothing out her own skirts over her hips.

“Is anyone ever really ready?” Aveline asked, standing up and starting the pacing that Hawke had been expecting.  “This… it feels like it’s so sudden.”

“But it’s not.  We’ve been planning this for months,” Hawke said.

“Not just that.  Getting married.  Suddenly… it feels like not enough time has passed with Wesley, and too much time has passed, at the same time.  I’m not sure I’m going to be able to remember what a bride is supposed to do.”

“I think you’ll be able to figure it out, Big Girl,” Isabela said, clapping her on one bare, freckled shoulder.  “And that’s what we’re here for, you know.  If you can’t remember it, we’ll help you through it.”  Hawke grinned at the little pep talk.  It surprised several people when Aveline asked Isabela to be one of her maids of honor, but it did not surprise Hawke.  The two sniped at each other constantly, but it was the good-natured sniping of sisters, of friends.  Sometimes actual patience was lost, but the words very rarely carried over into any serious territory. 

“Well, if you’re ready, I’ll go down and get the Revered Mother,” Hawke said.  “And we’ll start directing guests into the garden.”

“Maker…. Maker,” Aveline said, pressing her hands to her stomach.  “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

“Want some more whiskey?” Isabela asked, pulling the bottle out from… somewhere, Hawke didn’t want to know where.

Aveline grabbed the bottle and took three long drinks, then shoved it back at Isabela.  “No more after that.  I’m already feeling lightheaded as it is.  The last thing I need to be is drunk at my own wedding.”

“No, you should be drunk at the reception,” Isabela said, with a laugh, and put the bottle away.

“Okay, here goes,” Hawke said, and disappeared downstairs to try to find the Revered Mother in all the press of people.  Luckily, the Chantry folk were easy enough to spot; Sebastian was with them, dressed in his gleaming armor, and he stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was the work of moments to get the Revered Mother’s attention, and to tell her that Aveline was ready.  Soon everyone was making their way into the gardens, except for Hawke, who was making her way upstairs to tell Aveline that it was time for her to get married.

* * *

Revered Mother Elayne stood at the arch, the sun glinting off the flowers overhead to give her a golden, ethereal sort of glow.  Donnic stood there with the Revered Mother and his brother, Rikkard.  Hawke hadn’t spoken to Rikkard very much since the man’s arrival in town, but he seemed a solid sort, level-headed, like Donnic.  It was her opinion that he would make a great guard if he ever decided to move off his small farm and into Kirkwall proper.  Donnic, Hawke concluded, must come from that sort of stolid, solid family that most people only read about in stories.

Fenris was there, too, looking entire uncomfortable in his finery.  For all that he virtually matched Donnic and Rikkard in coat and trousers –and even shoes, a concession that was surprisingly easy to wring out of him, on Aveline’s part—there was no mistaking the three men.  Donnic and Fenris were equally handsome, but Donnic stood head and shoulders taller than her elf, and had the facial hair that elves never did.  Rikkard was clean-shaven, but just as tall and brown-haired as his brother.  But for all his protestations on the fitness of himself for such a role, Fenris seemed calm and confident, and relaxed in a way that usually only Hawke saw him.

She made her way to the arch, to stand opposite Fenris.  Isabela followed, dressed so strangely modestly that one could be forgiven for mistaking her for another woman, and took her place across from Rikkard.  She winked saucily at him, which caused the man to blush and steal a bemused glance at his brother, who simply shrugged.  Donnic might have preferred women with a little backbone, but only long familiarity had gotten him used to Isabela’s more blatant flirtations.  When the pirate tried winking at Fenris, the elf returned a bored, bland look that had Isabela wrinkling her nose in exasperation and throwing up her hands in frustration.

“None of you are any fun,” she complained, but in a moderate tone of voice.  Definitely an Isabela on her best behavior, today.

Then the lutes started playing what Hawke, who had never been to many weddings in her time, figured was a traditional bridal song, because Aveline appeared not long after, holding her bouquet of orange marigolds, orange poppies, and white roses.  The music accompanied her as she walked slowly down the aisle, and all the guests stood, the guards actually standing at attention as their Guard-Captain walked by, looking odd a cross between shy and radiant.

A swirling crescendo of music from the lutenists and then Aveline was taking her place by Hawke, across from Donnic.  She passed the bouquet of flowers over and Hawke held onto them carefully, as if that were her only purpose in the wedding.

“Friends and loved ones,” said Revered Mother Elayne, “we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of these two most faithful, under the eyes of the Maker and his beloved bride, Andraste.”  Hawke snuck a glance over at Fenris, and found him already watching her, an unreadable expression on his face.  She offered him as mile and he blinked at her slowly, then returned a slow smirk her way.

By that time, Hawke had already lost the train of what the Revered Mother was saying, so she snuck further glances around, trying to pick out who she recognized.  There was Brennan, one of Aveline’s best Lieutenants, maintaining her at-attention stance.  There sat Merrill, beside Varric; the Dalish had braided flowers into her hair and looked quite lovely, but Hawke was surprised to see them sitting instead of standing, like all the others were.  Surprisingly, Knight-Captain Cullen was standing to the side, beside her brother Carver, of all people, listening respectfully.  She caught Carver’s eye and gave him a brief nod; he returned a wave while trying to appear aloof and nonchalant.  Sebastian stood off to the side, with two Chantry sisters, listening intently enough to the Revered Mother that he did not notice Hawke noticing him.

Her attention must have drifted too long because suddenly Donnic was taking Aveline’s hands into his own and looking at her quite seriously.

“I, Donnic Hendyr, here under the gaze of the Maker, do take you, Aveline Vallen, to be my lawfully wedded wife.  I vow to love, honor, and cherish you, to keep you as my own, and to remain faithful all my days.  I, Donnic Hendyr, do hereby vow to hold you and support you, in wealth and in poverty, in sickness and in health, in feast and in famine, in good times and in bad times, so long as we both may live.”

Hawke couldn’t help but tear up a little.  Vowing to love each other forever… it was what she had with Fenris, just private, and not legal.  The intent was there, nonetheless.  And then Aveline spoke.

“I, Aveline Vallen, here under the gaze of the Maker, do take you, Donnic Hendyr, to be my lawfully wedded husband.  I vow to love, honor, and cherish you, to keep you as my own, and to remain faithful all my days.  I, Aveline Vallen, do hereby vow to hold you and support you, in wealth and in poverty, in sickness and in health, in feast and in famine, in good times and in bad times, so long as we both may live.”

Oh Maker, she couldn’t cry here, she _couldn’t_ cry…. Blinking hard, Hawke forced the tears back, and she noticed the beauteous smile that graced Aveline’s face.  She looked radiant, and Hawke truly understood the meaning of the phrase “like a bride on her wedding day” when someone was referring to beauty.

“Then by the power invested in me by the Maker, I now pronounce you, Donnic and Aveline, husband and wife,” Revered Mother Elayne smiled indulgently.  “You may now kiss the bride, Donnic.”

A cheer went up from those assembled, and even Hawke was clapping around the bouquet she was wielding.  Donnic leaned forward and took Aveline into his arms, tilting his head just slightly and slanting his mouth over hers.  Aveline’s arms went around him, and Hawke had to chuckle at the white-knuckled grip Aveline had on Donnic.  And then Isabela whooped, and cried out, “that’s what _I’m_ talkin’ about!” and the new bride and groom parted, chuckling ruefully, and with blushes staining both their cheeks.

And with the ceremony over, now it was time for the reception.

* * *

Isabela was, of course, well on her way to being drunk.  It was only to be expected with her, but Hawke was surprised to find herself getting there rather quickly as well.  _Perhaps there was just something about weddings that made people want to drink_ , she thought to herself, as she noticed many of the guards who were letting down _their_ guard and having a little bit more than was probably good for them.  It was a good thing Aveline was so distracted, otherwise some of those men and women might find themselves in a bit of a bind.

Overall, it was a good reception, however.  The caterers brought in good food: little sandwiches that one could eat in two bites.  Little tiny, flaky cakes that had to have been Orlesian in origin and were so good they actually ran out of them.  Bits of in-season fruit on tiny little sticks that looked decadent.  There were even cookies, and Hawke made sure that everyone knew Bethy wasn’t allowed to eat all the cookies she wanted.

And that reminded her of Anders.  The one of her friends who wasn’t there, for he and Aveline never got along well and he didn’t want to risk such a public appearance.  Hawke made a mental note to set aside some of the wedding cake for him.  He may not have been, strictly speaking, friends with Aveline, but he was friends with Hawke, and she was sad that he had to miss such a good party.

The furniture was cleared out of the library, something that had taken quite a while and no small amount of manpower to accomplish the day before, and the luteists had moved in there and were playing.  Couples were dancing, which was rather fun, and reminded Hawke of her Satinalia party, although it was quite a bit warmer.  Warm enough that the house felt stifling, at times.  Her garden was a popular place to be; a soothing breeze had kicked up and those who were more interested in conversation than in food, drink, or dancing, were outside, enjoying the breeze.

As hostess, she felt it was her duty to keep everyone happy, and so Hawke moved from room to room and person to person, taking the pressure off Aveline and Donnic.  They were encouraged to dance and, indeed, had the first dance of the day.  They were encouraged to sit and eat, and when it came time to cut the wedding cake, they did so together in the traditional manner.  Hawke thought they were adorable, and every person she talked to about the newlywed couple agreed with her.

It was quite amusing, however, to walk through the library and see Carver dancing with both Isabela and Merrill.  Merrill knew nothing about human dances, and Isabela only knew the risqué ones, so the three of them dancing together was doubly amusing, for that.  Sebastian danced with little Bethy, although Bethy wasn’t exactly certain what was going on, and then Varric took her for a turn around the dance floor.  She knew her favorite people were there, and sometimes they were giving her cookies, and that was really all Bethy needed to know.

As the evening wore on, however, people started clearing out, giving their best wishes to the new couple, although very few attempted the ribald teasing that Isabela was trying to get away with.  She had Donnic’s brother, Rikkard, cornered, at one point, and Hawke had to rescue him and scold her.  It seemed like her best behavior went out the window after the actual ceremony was over. 

Fenris did manage to catch her, in a down moment, and requested one of the dances from Hawke.  She was surprised; normally Fenris cared nothing for dancing (not that Hawke was that enthralled with it, of course) nor of being the center of attention, but it was nice to be swept around the dance floor, in his arms.  She smiled brightly the entire time, and even his face lost some of the normally dour expression it held. 

But after enough people had left, and after even Isabela had retired to one of Hawke’s guest rooms to “sleep it off” ( _And perhaps you won’t drink so much next time!_ Hawke thought) the cleanup began.  And Maker, what cleanup there was!

It was a good thing they had hired help for that, as well, because her estate was an awful mess.  Aveline and Donnic were still there, and Aveline, still wearing her beautiful wedding gown, was insisting on helping Hawke clean up the place.  It took all of Hawke’s influence with the woman to get her to back down, and then she got to listen to thank yous, which seemed to take an hour by themselves.

Aveline and Donnic were very grateful for the use of the estate, and for Hawke helping make their wedding the grand occasion it turned out to be. 

“Hawke,” Aveline said, for at least the tenth time, “I’m so… thank you.  You made this wonderful for me.”

“Aveline, I’m just glad I could help,” Hawke said, rubbing her eyes tiredly.  “Now, you two need to scoot out of here.  Isn’t there a ridiculously posh inn room with your names attached to it?”  Aveline flushed at that, and then grinned wickedly.

“And a trip to Orlais.  Don’t think I don’t know you’re behind that, too, Hawke,” Aveline told her.

“So long as you have fun, I’ll take credit for it,” Hawke said.  “But if you don’t have fun, it wasn’t my idea, alright?”  She embraced her friend, trying to be careful not to ruin the pretty dress.  “Now go!  Enjoy your wedding night!”

It was the early hours of the morning before the cleaning crew got out of the house, and Hawke was getting ready for bed.  Bethy had been put down for sleep hours ago, but she slept as only a toddler could: deeply, through everything.  Her room had been the least touched in the entire house, of course, but even Hawke’s bedroom looked to have been in a state of bedlam before Hawke got in there and started righting it again.

She had completely forgotten about Fenris until she found him lounging in bed, with a book, and then when she saw him she felt a momentary irritation that he hadn’t been up helping clean.  “You’ve been in here this whole time?” she asked, and some of the irritation must have come through her voice, because his ears wilted slightly.

“I was leaving the cleaning crew to their job, Hawke,” Fenris said, blandly.  “That’s what you were paying them for.”

“Yes, but they would have put things back in the wrong place if I hadn’t been there directing them,” she said, determined to be irritable. 

“I’m sure you were an immense help to them,” he said, flatly, going back to his reading, and Hawke grimaced over at him. 

“I am going to get a bath before I lob a fireball at you,” she said, pointedly, and then did so.  By the time she was ready to crawl into bed herself, her irritation was much diminished, although her exhaustion had increased.  Fenris had stayed up the entire time, however, and as soon as Hawke was under the covers, he sought her out, pulling her close against his chest and kissing the top of her head gently.

“You are tired.  I will make sure you get extra rest in the morning.”

“Well, I did just host one of the biggest events of the entire season in Kirkwall,” she said, dryly.

“You are a true friend to Aveline,” he replied.  “And a true friend to Donnic.  He wishes me to pass along more thanks, by the way.  Their stay in Val Royeaux should be… memorable, I would think.”

“So long as it’s the good kind of memorable,” Hawke said, eyes drifting closed.  “I certainly don’t mind.”

“I’m going to assume you’re not going to be ready to host any more weddings any time soon,” Fenris said.

“Better weddings than funerals.  There’s been too much sadness in my life.  I’m glad for this happy occasion.”

“Good,” Fenris said, and then kissed her goodnight, gently.

* * *

Hawke was suspicious.

It was really, she knew, Fenris’s fault.  Fenris was good at sneaking around when he didn’t want slavers to catch him, but he wasn’t so good at sneaking around when he didn’t want his partner to catch him.  The only problem was, she couldn’t figure out, exactly, what he was sneaking around about.

It was mainly the way he would startle when she came into a room, most often the library or the study, and he was busy, head bent down over letters from some unknown person, or sheets of paper he was meticulously writing on.  His handwriting had improved greatly over the years, as he had put all his skill, concentration, and simple desire to improve into improving.  So, Hawke decided, he wasn’t simply writing so slowly and thoughtfully because he felt he needed to.  He had reached neatness with speed long before.

So what was he doing?  And why was he making her so suspicious?

The only person she could talk to about it was Varric, the rest of them being ruled out for any of sundry reasons, and Varric told her to “ask the elf.”  But she couldn’t just _ask_ him, because that would mean that she would have to admit to being suspicious in the first place, and that would only drive him to be more paranoid about things in the future. 

So she let things be, and stayed suspicious.

In order to avoid giving voice to her suspicions, she kept busy, mostly with Bethy.  There were visits to Chantry School, which was busier during the summer months than it was during the winter months.  Bethy was starting to get along well with the other children there, for all that they simply played with toys and had books read to them, and she seemed to enjoy her twice-weekly outings. 

At other times, Hawke would bring Bethy around shopping with her, or visiting.  Pierre de Launcet had come to visit again, and Hawke passed a lovely afternoon with him and Bethy, just being social.  It felt incredibly odd to be _friendly_ with someone who was, sort of, at one point, a suitor, but Pierre was a friendly fellow, and, when he admitted that he had found a new object of his affections back in Orlais, Hawke felt herself relax more completely. 

It was fun, bringing Bethy around with her, although it felt odd that Fenris wasn’t following her around like she was used to.  When she told him about the visit with Pierre de Launcet, he didn’t even seem to get jealous (not that making him jealous was the intent; it just didn’t occur to her, until after, that he didn’t get jealous, as he usually seemed to do.)  Instead of Aveline (who was still in Orlais) following her around, or Fenris, who was doing the Maker-only-knew-what, it was Sebastian, in his too-bright armor, with his brogue accent.  He was pleasant enough to spend time with, albeit a bit preachy, and Hawke found herself getting to know him better than she had previously.

For it was an unspoken statement that _someone_ was going to follow her and Bethy around, and if it wasn’t Fenris, and it wasn’t Aveline, it was, obviously, going to be Sebastian this time.

“You’re the safest little girl in the world,” Hawke told Bethy, getting her dressed for bed one night.

“Beffy,” said the child.

“Bethany Leandra Hawke,” said Hawke.  “Can you say ‘Hawke’?”

“Haw,” said Bethy.

“You’re getting there.  You’re talking so much better than you used to!  I’m so proud of you.”

“Cookie?  Beffy cookie ma?”

“Not tonight,” she said, with a grin, and tapped Bethy on the nose before putting her into the crib. 

When Hawke settled in for bed, she expected Fenris to be there, but he wasn’t.  When she got up, she padded through the estate, looking for him.  She had assumed he was there, because hadn’t he been there for dinner, earlier? 

Eventually, Hawke found him, in the library, bent over the desk again and reading by dim candlelight.  She pursed her lips slightly and coughed, announcing her presence in the room.

“You need more light?” she asked, conjuring up a ball of magelight.

“I thought you had gone to bed,” Fenris replied, sitting up quickly.

“I was going to bed.  I thought you were getting ready to go to bed, too.  Bethy is already asleep.”

“Is it that late already?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.  “The time must have slipped by me somehow.”

“Do you want to tell me what you’ve been up to?” Hawke asked, feeling her stomach rise slightly.  She was trying to avoid this conversation with him, but if it was distracting him to this point…

“I… am not ready to discuss it, yet,” Fenris replied, folding the letters back and resettling them in their envelopes.

“You know, you can tell me anything.  I won’t get mad.”

“There’s nothing to get mad over, Hawke,” he told her, standing.  “I think I’m ready for bed now.  Thank you for coming and getting me.”

“Fenris, is there something wrong?  You’ve been going over those same letters for weeks, now.”

“There is nothing wrong, Hawke.  I just… wish to go to bed, that’s all.”

“…okay.”  She sighed, and gestured for him to walk ahead of her.  If he didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t force the matter.

He prepared for bed quietly, and it was obvious that his mind was elsewhere.  Hawke went ahead and got into bed, holding up her magelight to light up a book she was trying to read, but her mind kept wandering elsewhere.  Was something wrong?  Had she insulted him, somehow?  But he wouldn’t be getting ready for bed here, if that were the case.  Fenris had shown that, if he were angry enough with her, he would simply stay at his dilapidated mansion.  He hadn’t for months, at this point, partly because of the fear they still harbored of someone breaking in and taking her, or Bethy, or both of them ( _damn those Carta dwarves for instilling that fear_ , she thought) but still… it was there for him, if he wished.

Fenris was never one to be chatty about his feelings, but surely, if something were bothering him that badly, he would speak of it to her.  Wouldn’t he?  He got into bed next to her and slid his arms around her waist, pulling himself close.  Hawke was taken aback, mainly because of the direction her own thoughts had been going.

“Are you ready to go to sleep now?” she asked him, marking her place in her book and setting it on the bedside table.

“I was just thinking,” he said, his voice grave.  “About family.  And how nice is to have one.”

“You know, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.  I’m not going to get mad.”

“Nothing is bothering me Hawke,” he said, sounding somewhat exasperated, but he didn’t let go of her, instead nuzzling his lips against where her shoulder met her arm.  “In fact, I think things are going fairly well.”

“That’s usually the time things stop going fairly well,” she said, jokingly.

“You say that, but I hope it’s not true.  Things are going well for us and for our friends, and I hope they stay that way.”

She slipped her arms around him and pressed her face against his bare chest.  He rumbled a pleased sound, and slipped one hand up her back so that he could run his fingers through her long, dark hair.

Her hand made smooth circles along his back, and he again rumbled his approval, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Fenris?” she asked, after a few long, quiet moments.

“Yes, Hawke?”

“I’m glad you’re here, and not somewhere else,” she told him.

“Where else would I be?” he asked, amused.

“I don’t know.  You could be in Antiva.  Or Rivain.  Oh, or you could be in Orlais, with Aveline and Donnic!” she laughed.

He chuckled.  “I don’t think Aveline _or_ Donnic would appreciate me being in Orlais with them right now.”

“It’ll be good to have them back,” she said, after another long, quiet moment.  “I didn’t realize how much I’d miss Aveline.”

She tilted her face up towards him and he tilted his face down, and they gently pressed their lips together, quickly, one, two, three.  Hawke smiled, and used the smallest possible current of air to snuff out the candles that were still lit.

“Goodnight, Fenris.  I love you,” she said.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” he replied, holding her tightly.


	34. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke reminds Fenris that he's not alone.

Hawke could not get over Fenris acting suspicious.  At least, he was acting suspicious _to her_ ; she finally started asking the others, and no one saw anything odd in any of his behavior.

“He’s always acted a bit odd to me, sweet thing.  I wouldn’t let it worry you,” Isabela told her, when Hawke confided in her that she thought something was wrong with Fenris.

“You don’t think there’s something worth worrying about, though?  I mean, he’s all but trying to sneak around!”

“He’s no rogue,” Isabela said, rolling her eyes and settling back in her chair.  “The best he can manage is to move quickly.  Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Hawke.  Men go through phases like this.  So long as everything’s okay in the bedroom, you’re fine.”  She gave Hawke an arched look.  “Things _are_ okay in the bedroom, yes?”

Hawke managed not to blush; too much time around Isabela had inured Hawke to much in the way of innuendo and sex talk, but only just, and this was an “only just” case.  She was fairly certain that Fenris didn’t want her talking about their sex life, but he wasn’t here right now.  And that was rather the point.

“Everything’s fine there, ‘Bela,” Hawke said, managing to not stutter over her words.  There.  If she showed any sort of reaction, Isabela would have been more likely to press her for answers simply to keep getting that reaction.  As it was, the pirate just shrugged.

“Well then, sweet thing, you’re fine.”

But she didn’t _feel_ fine, and so Hawke fretted, going about her life, as usual.

It was a great relief, when Aveline and Donnic returned from Orlais.  They had been gone well over a month, including travel time, and Hawke had _missed_ her friend greatly.  Aveline looked _wonderful:_ well-rested, happy, glowing, relaxed.  Hawke could count on one hand the number of times she had seen Aveline look that relaxed, with fingers left over.

“It’s so good to see you,” she gushed to her friend.

“I see you’ve managed to keep Kirkwall from burning down around everything,” Aveline replied, good-natured humor in her voice.  Hawke couldn’t keep her grin back.

“I can’t say it was easy, with the Guard-Captain gone missing,” Hawke teased, and Aveline chuckled.  “But I’m glad you had a good honeymoon.  It _was_ good, wasn’t it?” Hawke asked.

“I’m not one to kiss and tell, Hawke, you know that.”

“But you’ve got to tell me something.  I’ve never been to Orlais; is it truly as hoity-toity as I’ve heard?”

“It’s worse than that, but the food is good, and the wine is better,” Aveline said, chuckling.  “Val Royeaux was beautiful.  The Grand Cathedral there is magnificent.  Hawke, you should take Fenris and go, when you two finally decide to get over yourselves and get married.”

Hawke bit her lip and looked down, awkwardly stubbing her toe in the little dirt the cobblestones allowed for.  “I’m sure Fenris wouldn’t mind,” she said, managing a smile.

“Alright, talk,” Aveline demanded.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, per say,” Hawke said.  “Fenris has just been acting… oddly.  Secretive.  It’s not like him.”

“Hmm.  I think I might know what that’s about.  Don’t lose faith in him yet, Hawke.  And don’t get yourself down; he’s still yours.”

“Fenris is a free man.  He doesn’t belong to anybody,” Hawke protested, and Aveline snorted in response.

“If you believe that, I’ve got a bridge to sell you on the Silent Plains.”

“Aveline.”

“Hawke.”

Hawke sighed.  “Fine.  I’ll try to quit worrying about it, then.  Just… he’s not going to ask me to marry him, is he?”

“You’d know that better than I would,” Aveline told her, point-blank.  “I thought you two had decided you weren’t going to get married.”

“I thought we had decided we should talk about it first, but talking about it was too… awkward.”

“You didn’t give him any copper marigolds, did you?” Aveline asked, with a hint of a smile.  Hawke smiled back and chuckled.

“No.  I just… worry.  A lot more than I used to.”

“Nothing to worry about, Hawke.  Now, I need to see to the reports that have been piling up since I left,” Aveline said, and patted Hawke awkwardly on the shoulder.  “I’ll stop by your place for dinner.  We can catch up better then.”

Indeed, Aveline made good on her promise, bringing Donnic along with her.  Fenris was, as was more usual lately, not there, but Anders was instead, which made for a contentious meal, Aveline and Anders not getting along being one of the specialties of their friendship.  Hawke had to break up arguments between the two constantly, and she was surprised that Donnic was so willing to sit back and let his wife argue all she wanted with the renegade apostate; when pressed later, over after-dinner drinks, Donnic simply smiled and said, “Aveline can handle herself with Anders.  I’m not worried.”

Hawke didn’t doubt that Aveline could handle herself with Anders in a debate, but that didn’t mean she wanted to hear it.  Even so, the rest of the evening was rather lovely and relaxing, once Anders excused himself to go down to his room, and Aveline and Donnic spent the time regaling her with appropriate stories from their time in Orlais, while Hawke saw to Bethy.  The entire thing was domestic and fun, and something she wished Fenris was there for, for she felt he would enjoy the evening greatly.  Aveline and Donnic were special friends of his, and she knew he would be disappointed to have missed out on such a fine evening.

Indeed, it wasn’t until well after Aveline and Donnic had left and Bethy had been put to bed that Fenris returned, looking as if butter couldn’t melt in his mouth.  Hawke wanted to question him on his whereabouts, but she took her friendship with Aveline seriously and if Aveline said there was nothing to worry over, there probably was nothing.  Therefore, she ensured that Fenris got leftovers from dinner, and sat with him in the library, talking for a bit.  It was difficult, to keep suspicion out of her voice and away from her demeanor, but Hawke felt she handled it rather successfully.

* * *

Fenris had disappeared before breakfast, which was a disappointment to Hawke.  She was used to spending more time with him than she had been, and she missed him terribly.  Whatever he was doing, she hoped to the Maker it would be over with soon, so that they could go about together as was usual.  When lunchtime had come and gone with no further sign of him, she sighed and left Bethy in the capable hands of Orana, Bodahn, and Sandal, and went out, her best robes on and her staff in hand.  She was going to be prepared for whatever was needed, and if she just so happened to drop by his mansion…

The knock on the door went unanswered, but she could hear voices upstairs, heated voices, and so Hawke let herself in and mounted the steps to the one room that Fenris habitually used.  She was surprised to find him looming over his worktable and Aveline sitting in the chair, looking about fed up with whatever it was Fenris had to say.

“I need to know if it’s a trap!” he said, rather loudly, banging his fists down on the table.  Aveline rolled her eyes and stood up.

“I’ve told you what I know, Fenris.  The rest is up to you.”  And as she passed Hawke, “You deal with him, Hawke.  I’ve had about enough and you’re the only one who can handle him this way.”

“This way” apparently meant with him very agitated; as soon as Aveline left, Fenris was cursing.  “ _Venhedis.  Fasta vass!_ ”

“It could just be me,” Hawke quipped, “but I’d swear you’re angry.”

“Yes, go ahead, make fun of me,” he replied, sourly.  But the jesting must have calmed him somewhat, for he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before he continued.  “I… didn’t tell you, Hawke, but… I followed up on the information that I got from Hadriana.  About my sister.”

“So she does exist?” Hawke replied, and suddenly several things came together at once.  “You’ve been writing to your sister, and you didn’t want me to know.”

He nodded.  “I needed to do this on my own, in case it was a trap.”

“So was the information that Hadriana gave you accurate?  She was in Quarinus after all?”

“Minrathous, actually.  Not a slave.  She’s a tailor, in fact.”  The pride in his voice was evident when he said it, and Hawke couldn’t help but grin at it.  “Her being in Minrathous made it more difficult to get letters to her, but I managed, with Varric and Aveline’s help.  I sent her some coin several months ago, enough to book passage on a ship, and it seems she’s here now.”

“So everything is going according to plan.  How terrible for you,” Hawke teased.  Fenris shot her a dark look and grimaced.

“She’s going to be at The Hanged Man all this week, according to the newest letter and from what Aveline said.  An elf matching her description disembarked from a ship hailing from Tevinter yesterday.  But… I can’t go see her alone.”  He dropped his head, refusing to meet her gaze.  “Come with me, Hawke.  Please.  That’s… all I ask.”

“Of course I’ll come with you!” Hawke said, jubilant that he was even asking her to accompany him.  If nothing else, if it _was_ a trap, she would be there to help fight at his side.  And, she would make sure that Isabela and Varric were both there, and that Aveline and Sebastian would come along, if possible.  The more people there, just in case, the better.

“Thank you.  Your support means… it means the world to me, Hawke.”

“So is this what you’ve been so secretive about?” she asked him, settling into the chair that Aveline vacated.  “Letters from your sister?”

“I couldn’t tell you, in case things turned out badly.  And… I wanted to do this for myself,” he said, taking the chair across from hers.  “It meant a lot to me, to do this by myself.”

“But you had Varric and Aveline’s support,” she pointed out, trying to not sound bitter.

“They are not you.  And I cannot live in your shadow, Hawke.  It was just important to me, to be able to do this as much on my own as I could.  I used Varric for his contacts, and Aveline for watching the ships and the passenger manifests.  You would have done the entire thing by yourself.”

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Hawke did have to admit that what he said was true.  If he had told her he was seeking his sister, she would have overtaken the entire endeavor, and that would hardly have been fair to him.  Fenris was a free man, and sometimes, she supposed, he needed to remind himself of such things.  Sometimes, such as seeking a lost sister. 

“Well, I guess we’ll go to The Hanged Man tomorrow and meet this mysterious sister of yours,” she said, trying to sound positive.  In her head was a litany, _please don’t be a trap, please don’t be a trap, please don’t be a trap_ …  “One thing, though.  Bethy should stay at home.”

Fenris’s head snapped up, his eyes wide.  “You think it’s a trap,” he said, voice hoarse.

“No moreso than you do, apparently,” she replied, settling her elbows on the table, resting her chin in the palms of her hands.  “So Bethy stays at home.  Later…. We shall see what we shall see.”

“I think you have the right of it,” he said, calming himself and settling in the chair a little more relaxedly.  “And I suppose you’ll want Aveline there, at least.”

“I was thinking having as many people as possible being there.  Just in case,” she said, holding up her hands.  “Just in case.”

“What you say… makes sense,” he said, nodding.  “Better to prepare for the worst; that way all your surprises are pleasant ones.”

“Exactly so,” she said.

* * *

The day dawned overcast, with large, grey clouds taking up the majority of the space and refusing to let but only small bits of sunshine in at a time.  Living in a port city as they did, Hawke and her crew were used to overcast, dreary days; rain was rather common, quite honestly, and few days saw clear skies with plenty of sun.  Today was no exception.

Hawke dressed carefully, taking care to choose the best of her robes.  Not that she didn’t want to make a good first impression on Fenris’s sister, but she was more worried about potential trouble, and wanted the robes with the best enchantments on them.  She brushed out her hair and then plaited it back into a tail, to keep the errant hairs out of her face and give her the least distractions for fighting, if it came down to it.  Hawke was nothing if not prepared.

It both relieved and saddened her to see Fenris going through similar preparations: relief because it meant he wasn’t going in dew-eyed and was taking the potential threat seriously, and saddened because what should have been a joyous occasion was being overshadowed by the threat of a threat, really.  Hawke would have wished that hope would win out, in Fenris’s mind, but he hadn’t stayed free of Danarius for nearly a decade by overlooking threats due to wishful thinking.

As was agreed the evening before, Bethy was staying home, safe with Orana, Bodahn, and Sandal, and Hawke was leaving Hero behind as well; the mabari would easily act as a deterrent for most who wished to break in, and it did not occur solely to Hawke that meeting this Varania at The Hanged Man could have been a decoy for an attack where Fenris was mostly known to reside.

She even coaxed Anders up into the main part of the estate, to help watch Bethy, but mainly to guard, just as Hero was doing.  It did not surprise Hawke as much as sadden her upon realizing all the precautions they were taking, just to meet one sister.

Sebastian was waiting at the Keep, along with Aveline, so that saved them a trip up to the Chantry to fetch the Brother.  When Fenris expressed his pleased surprised at the help, Sebastian clapped him on the (non-spikey) part of his shoulder.

“We are friends, are we not, Fenris?  I wouldnae see you face a threat alone.  And if the Maker smiles on us, and there is no threat, all the better.”

“I… thank you, Sebastian,” was the reply, almost shy.  Hawke nudged Fenris and shot him a smile; they had already gone over the fact that his friends would be there to back him up, for good or ill.  Fenris hadn’t wanted to believe it then, but he seemed to be coming around now.

Merrill, however, was a surprise whom they met upon first entering the Lowtown markets.  Hawke didn’t remember asking her along, in part due to the fact that Fenris disliked the Dalish so much, on account of her blood mage status.

“Varric thought you might need an extra mage,” she said, hurriedly, in her lilting tones.  “in case things go wrong.  ‘Better safe than sorry,’ he said, and if there aren’t any problems then I’ll just find Isabela and leave you be.”

“Thank you, Merrill,” Hawke said, and Fenris nodded his head in thanks as well, surprising them all. 

During this hour of the day, The Hanged Man was generally fairly empty.  Usually only the all-day drunkns hung out now; most of the rest inundated the tavern when they got off work in the evenings, and then again, briefly, in the early morning, when the night shifts got off work.  Today was no different; the tavern was almost empty, and dim from the lack of lanterns lit combined with grimy windows letting in little of the overcast light from outside.

Piss, sour ale, vomit, and the smell of desperation: Fenris had used those words to describe the unique odor of the filthy tavern, once, and they held as true before ten bells as they did at night.  Hawke couldn’t help wrinkling her nose, as she did every time she came in here.  At least, she thought, with so few people, the scent of body odor would be less.  She glanced over at Corff, who was behind the bar as was usual, day or night, and Corff glanced quickly to a lone woman sitting in the middle of the tavern.  Ah.

Fenris had led the way inside, but stopped short about the same time Hawke noticed the lone woman.  He stared at her, and Hawke knew, she could _tell_ , that he recognized her.

“It really is you,” the woman said, sadly, not looking up.  Hawke felt the hairs on her neck start to rise, but Fenris didn’t appear to sense the threat.

“Varania?” Fenris asked, voice near to awe.  “I remember you.  We played in our master’s courtyard while mother worked.  You called me…”

“Leto.  That’s your name.”

Hawke tried to hang back slightly, to give them what privacy they could be afforded in the middle of the tavern, and thus she was the first to see the man, flanked by guards, walking down the steps from upstairs.

At first, he just seemed like an older man with robes on, until she caught sight of the mage’s staff poking over his shoulder.  With a gasp, she reached for Fenris’s elbow.  He half-turned to her, confused, but she cried out, “Draw your sword!  It’s a trap!”  Fenris’s head whipped around, first to where Varania was rising from her chair and then finally catching the movement down the stairs from the second floor.  The sound of his sword unsheathing was very loud in the sudden quiet.

“Ah,” said the man, slowly descending the stairs.  “My little Fenris.  Predictable as always.”

“I’m sorry it came to this, Leto,” Varania said, and to her credit, she truly did sound sorry.  Hawke was not inclined to spend any sympathy on the elven woman, however; instead, she opened herself fully to her mana.  Danarius must be the mage; he would be the most danger, and she would need to take him out first.  She only hoped the others saw the danger as she did.

“You led him here!” Fenris growled at Varania, hands tightening on the hilt of his greatsword.

“Now, now, Fenris, don’t blame your sister.  She only did what any good Imperial citizen should.”

“I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius, but I won’t let you kill me to get them!”

Danarius laughed, a sickly-sounding thing to Hawke’s ears.  “How little you know, my pet.  And this is your new Mistress, then?  The Champion of Kirkwall?”  Danarius and his guards advanced and Varania fell back against the wall beside the stairs.  Hawke noticed Varric at the top of the stairs, Bianca in hand, and Isabela appearing from behind the bar.  Maker, she hoped Corff hid; this was going to get ugly.  “Impressive.  She is rather lovely.”

“Fenris doesn’t belong to anyone!” Hawke shouted, building her mana up.  Ice first, she thought, and then lightning.

Danarius addressed her smugly.  “Do I detect a note of jealous?  It’s not surprising; the lad _is_ rather skilled, isn’t he?”

“Shut your mouth, Danarius,” Fenris ordered, and his markings glowed blue-white, fiercely.

Danarius huffed an irritated breath, the first sign of irritation he’d shown the entire time.  “The word is ‘master,’” he said, and then Fenris was upon him.

Or he tried to be upon him; the guards did their job, and got between Danarius and Fenris.  For his part, Danarius retreated up the steps and put a force field around himself.  _Coward_ , Hawke thought.  The force field would prevent him from helping any of his men as much as it would prevent himself from being killed.  The Hanged Man would be full of dead bodies, by the time they were done, anyway, but Danarius helping his men would have given them more of a fighting chance.

Aveline took on the guards head-on; there seemed to be about half a dozen of them, but then more came in from the tavern door and for a moment Hawke felt the despair of being overwhelmed.  Then Merrill started picking them off, and Sebastian, and Varric, all fighting from ranged distances, and Hawke reminded herself, forcefully, that her crew could take on anything, and _Danarius would not have him_.

She twirled her staff in her hands and closed a fist, bringing a Fist of the Maker down on where three guards had gathered to take on Aveline, more the fool they.  One of the men stayed on the filthy Hanged Man Floor, and as he was trying to get up, a bolt went flying through his neck.  The man dropped back down and Varric shouted out “One more for the dwarf!”  Hawke couldn’t help but chuckle.

Hawke kept one eye on Danarius, watching for when his forcefield fell away, and one eye on the battlefield.  The guards were not, admittedly, very good guards, for they went down fairly quickly, and stayed down.  Danarius had obviously not thought to equip them with health or stamina potions, or decent arms or armor.  It almost made her laugh, until the forcefield dropped and Danarius pulled out a small silver knife and ran it over his palm.

The blood magic gathered there, in the air, and a smell like a charnel house crept over them, and then the dead bodies rose up, and started fighting back.

“I bloody hate the undead!” she called, flinging fireballs at them left and right, but these undead seemed immune to her flames.  Fenris shot forward, cutting limbs off them, cutting one of them nearly in half, but still the newly dead men marched on, waving around weapons (for those who still had arms.)  “Merrill!  Can you undo this spell?”

“No, sorry Hawke!  I’ve been trying to not do blood magic anymore since you don’t like it,” the little Dalish said, and for the first time in her life, Hawke felt disappointed that there would not be more blood magic added to the fray. 

“His forcefield is down!” shouted Isabela, and Hawke turned just in time to catch him with a Winter’s Grasp spell.  Danarius must have had better protections than his men, however, because the spell seemed to barely affect him, and Hawke was lucky enough to get off another lightning spell before the forcefield went back up.  She could hear Fenris curse behind her; obviously, he was headed towards Danarius when he saw the blue shield go back up.

“Hawke! Behind you!” cried Sebastian, and Hawke whirled around only to find herself face-to-face with a shade.  She cursed luridly and lashed out with her staff at the thing, managing to call more ice and lightning to it before it meltingly disappeared.  When she looked up again, there were shades and rage demons all over the tavern, and all she could do was rush into the middle of the fray in order to help keep them back.

“Merrill!  Ice at the rage demons!” she called, and the two mages worked ice spell after ice spell at the three rage demons rampaging through the middle of The Hanged Man.  Hawke thought, for a moment, that it was a good thing the tavern was so empty, or else they would have even more dead and injured to deal with.  As it was, she had had burns all across her hands from the damnable things, and one of the shades had turned corporeal enough to wrench her elbow when she slashed at it with her staff.

“Hawke!  The forcefield’s down!” Varric shouted, and she immediately spun and started shooting energy bolts from her staff, her mana being uncomfortably low.  Fenris rushed Danarius at the same time, too, and she saw an arrow sprout from the man’s shoulder.  He would go down.

And she knew that if she were running short on mana, Merrill and Danarius would be as well.  They, however, both had the benefit of blood magic, and she did not.  That meant that they needed to be done with Danarius, and quickly. Aveline and Isabela were busy taking out the rest of the shades and demons, and Varric and Sebastian were going back and forth between hitting Danarius and hitting the shades.  The forcefield would go up, stay up for a scant minute, and fall back down again, with Danarius disappearing and reappearing elsewhere in the tavern a moment later.  Clearly the man _was_ at the end of his rope, and he knew it.

When Danarius fell to his knees, his staff dropping in a clattering sound to the ground, Fenris dropped his sword and advanced on the man.

“No…”  Danarius said, pleading.  “No, Fenris, you don’t want to do this.  You held affection for me, once.”

Fenris lifted Danarius by the throat and squeezed.  “You are no longer my master,” he spat, and with a sickening crunching sound he snapped Danarius’s spine, and then his neck.  He let the body fall onto the floor where it would and turned away from it, eyes only for Varania.

“I had no choice, Leto,” Varania said, putting her hands up as if that would actually keep Fenris from her.  Fenris walked towards her slowly, his hands dripping Danarius’s blood.

“Stop calling me that,” he demanded, a shout.

“He was going to make me his apprentice,” she pleaded.  “I was going to be a magister.”  Hawke breathed in deeply and shook her head.  This wasn’t going to end well.

“You sold out your own brother to become a magister?” Fenris yelled.  He took a step back, and then another, as if he were trying to distance himself from the concept.

“You have no idea what we went through.  What I had to do since Mother died.  This was my only chance, Leto!”

“And now you have no chance at all,” he said, advancing again and glowing blue as his markings activated.  Varania held up her hands again and looked at Hawke, entreating her with her eyes to step in.  Hawke sighed, more in irritation than anything else, and came to Fenris’s side.

“Fenris, you don’t want to do this,” she said, although she wasn’t very sure about that.  This woman had nearly cost her Fenris, had nearly cost all of them Fenris, and had created a huge mess, to boot.  If anyone deserved to die, she did.  But…

“Why not?  She was willing enough to see me die,” he snarled at Hawke, not holding back his anger.

“She’s your sister,” Hawke said, putting her hand gently on Fenris’s arm.  “Trust me.  You don’t want to kill your own sister.  You don’t want that guilt gnawing at you.  If this was her only chance…. Suffice it to say, she has no more chances.  She can go back to Tevinter and fight her way from the ground up, like you had to do.”

Fenris turned to Varania, ducked his head down.  His bangs covered his eyes, and he made fists with both hands.  “I would have given you everything,” he whispered to her.  “Go.  Get out.  Now,” he said, voice getting louder as he went on.

Varania ran, and was nearly at the door of The Hanged Man, when she turned back.  “You said you didn’t ask for this, but that’s not true.  You wanted it.  You _competed for it_.  And when you won, you used the boon to have mother and I set free.  But looking at you now, I think you got the better end of the bargain.  Freedom was no boon.”  And then she was running out of the tavern, and back out of their lives.

It was quiet in the tavern, and the rest of her crew was helping to set things right, and slitting the throats of the dead men.  Isabela was complaining very loudly of being covered in demon ichor, and called over and told Hawke that she owed her a new dress for this.  Fenris just stood there, staring at the wall, until Hawke came up beside him, favoring her hurt elbow.

“I thought finding out about my past would bring a sense of belonging, but I was wrong.  Magic has tainted that, too.”  Hawke bit her tongue; now was not the time to discuss magic and mage rights with Fenris.  Perhaps it would not be the time to discuss that for weeks, depending on how things went.  “There is nothing for me to reclaim.  I am alone.”

“I’m here, Fenris,” Hawke said, reaching out to touch his arm, and he turned to her and smiled that bittersweet smile of his, caressed her jaw. 

“I feel unclean.  Like this magic is not only etched into my skin, but into my very soul.  I need to get out of here,” he said, and began walking to the doorway slowly.

“Fenris?  I’ll see you at home, if you like?”

“As it please you, Hawke,” he replied, and then disappeared out the door to the tavern.  Hawke sighed and looked around.

“Does anyone need Healing?” she asked, weakly.

* * *

It was dark, by the time Hawke managed to drag herself back to her estate.  There had been much to do at The Hanged Man, and Hawke felt guilty for calling such chaos down onto Corff’s bar, so she helped him clean up, to the best of her abilities.  It was good, sometimes, being a mage, as that made it a lot easier to clean up bloodstains and the like.  Hawke was willing to venture that The Hanged Man was cleaner than it had been in years.  Downstairs, at least.  She knew for a fact that, before today, some of those tables hadn’t seen a wet washrag for months, and there had never been a broom or mop to the place so long as she could remember.

Her blood had run hot during the fight, and she neglected to note that several of their friends had sustained injuries, burns among them.  Hawke was a good enough Healer to take care of what injuries there were, however, as soon as her mana recharged, and her friends weren’t in dire straits enough to go rushing to her estate to find Anders and get them Healed immediately. 

Aveline went back to the barracks, with a promise that Hawke would stop by to see to her later, if Anders didn’t see to her first.  Sebastian stayed and helped clean, as did Merrill.  Isabela made off with a bottle of whiskey and hid out in her room, but only after Hawke had seen to the numerous bruises and burns that she had; the pirate felt no guilt about cleaning the place up like the others might have, but that didn’t mean she didn’t deserve the Healing.  Varric was busy scribbling in his notebook, trying to get everything written down and, every now and again asking for clarification on who said what, when, exactly.

She had nearly forgotten about Fenris entirely until she came into the estate and saw him carrying Bethy in his arms towards her, concern painting his face.  He must have found time to clean up for he had been covered with blood when he left The Hanged Man and was clean and in clean clothes, now; Hawke felt a touch of resentment that she scolded herself for.  The entire thing had to have been traumatic for Fenris; she shouldn’t resent him for coming home and cleaning up while she stayed behind and helped straighten up the place they virtually destroyed.

“I was worried about you,” Fenris said, relief in his voice.

“It took a long time to get the place cleaned back up,” she said, trying to not sound as tired as she felt.  “I had to grease some palms, too.”

“Were you hurt badly?” he asked her.

“Not too badly.  Nothing I wasn’t able to handle after getting my mana back, that is.”  Bethy held out her arms for her mother to hold her, and Hawke had to settle for a kiss on top of the head.  “Now now, dear.  Mother is covered with blood and viscera.”  She wrinkled her nose and Bethy wrinkled her nose in return, then laughed.

“There is dinner waiting for you,” Fenris told her.  “But you should see to a bath, first.”

“Oh, I’ll see to a bath first, indeed,” she said, laughing again.  “It’s going to be the best bath in the entire world, won’t it Bethy?”

“No baf,” Bethy said, shaking her head.

“Not for you, little one.  Mommy wants one badly, though.”  With another kiss for Bethy, and a tentative one for Fenris, she took the stairs two at a time and started peeling off her bloody robes in her room, sighing in near tangible relief to get the things off.  Drawing her own bath was easy; again, thankful for those mage powers, she created hot water and soaked in it for a time, then washed well, rinsing her hair three times to make sure she got everything out of it.

By the time her hair was combed out, she was dried off, and in house clothes, Fenris had found his way back upstairs to her, with Bethy tagging along.  It was almost as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, and Hawke knew they would be talking about the entire thing sooner rather than later.  Probably as soon as Bethy went to bed.  Fenris seemed troubled, and she couldn’t let the man be troubled if there were anything she could do to prevent it.

Dinner was meat, cheese, and bread, made into sandwiches and delicious for that.  She was surprised that Orana didn’t have something hot going, after the day they had had, and Fenris explained that he gave her the night off, so that she could read in her room, if she wished, or work on her knitting, or do whatever it was that she liked doing.  That was even more of a surprise; Fenris did not order the servants unless something was wrong with Hawke and he had no choice in the matter.

Before long, it was time to put Bethy to bed, and, luckily, she went down quickly.  Hawke retired down to the library, waiting for Fenris to come to her so that she would not be pushing the issue, and indeed, he followed not long after, sitting beside her on the sofa and looking as discontent as she had ever seen him look.

“So,” she began, trying to search for a topic away from the one he was sure to take it to, just to give him the option of avoiding it, if he wished.

“I am free,” he said, softly, shaking his head.  “Danarius is dead.  Yet… it doesn’t feel as it should.”

“You thought killing him was the answer to everything, but it wasn’t.  You were already a free man, living as a free man should, Fenris,” Hawke said.  It was what she had always felt; Fenris was free, in her mind, even if he didn’t feel that way.

“I suppose you are right,” Fenris replied, nodding.  “I thought that if I didn’t need to run and fight and hide to stay free, I would be able to live like a free man does.  But I have everything a free man wants, right here, with you and Bethy.”

“I’m glad it took killing someone before you finally figured that out,” Hawke teased, and Fenris frowned at her.  Ah, the frowny face.  Serious, then.

“My sister is gone, and I have nothing, not even an enemy.  How do I live like a free man is supposed to, when all I know is running, and fighting, Hawke?”

“You have a future,” she pressed, reaching over to touch her fingers to his knee.  He jerked his knee slightly, then looked guilty and reached over to touch her fingers with his own.

“Are you part of that future?”

“You know I am,” she said, chiding.  “I gave you the option to back out when I first found out I was pregnant with Bethy, but you were determined to face this beside me, even if it wasn’t as my partner.  And here you are.”

“Here I am,” he agreed.  “It’s just difficult to overlook the stain that magic has left on my life.  If I seem bitter, it’s not without cause.”

“And without magic, you wouldn’t have me, and you wouldn’t have Bethy.  You have a family here.  I am sorry about Varania, and I am sorry about your markings, Fenris, but magic has given to you a family just as it took your family away.  I would never ask you to choose between what you’ve lost and what you’ve gained, but I would ask that you think for a moment, and realize that magic has given you the family you wanted already.”

He was silent, so quiet for so long that Hawke thought she had pushed him too far, that he wasn’t ready for that, especially not tonight.  And then he looked at her, and she gasped, just slightly.  Fenris scooted over on the sofa, closer to her, an arm going around her waist, and slanted his mouth over hers, his hand cupping her jaw.

By the time she came up for breath, he was breathing hard as well, and he dashed his eyes away, not daring to look at her.

“I have been a fool in many ways, Marian, but I will not let this hold me back anymore.  I thought…. I thought I could not ask you, could not be the man you needed with Danarius still alive.  Well, he is dead, and I am free, and as a free man,  I ask you,  Marian, my love, will you marry me?”

She gasped, her eyes going wide, but he was looking directly at her, not hiding behind his bangs this time, and the look on his face was as earnest as she had ever seen him be.

“Fenris,” she said, cupping his face with her hands.  “Fenris, _yes_ ,” she said, and then her lips were on his and she was half in his lap, fingers scrabbling through his hair, over his shoulder, on his back.

“I love you,” he said, capturing her lips with his.  Gracefully, he stood and scooped her up into his arms.  “Let us continue this conversation in the bedroom, Marian,” he suggested, voice low and husky.

“Fenris, _yes_ ,” she said, again, and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The debate was to end with smut, or to end with fade-to-black. When it doubt, fade-to-blackit.


	35. Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke tells her friends that she's engaged, and they take it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit chapter is explicitly explicit. Viewer discretion is advised.

 

“Oh!” Hawke gasped, wiggling her hips slightly.  Fenris chuckled and dipped his head down further, brushing his lips over her navel while his fingers parted her folds.  Hawke tilted her head back and sighed, carding her fingers through his hair with one hand and fisting the sheets with the other hand in anticipation for when he touched… for when he touched…

There.  She gasped again, spreading her knees further apart, and he dipped his mouth down to her lower belly, placing open-mouthed kisses along the pale, soft flesh there, seeking out the pearl of her nub with his fingers and twisting it just slightly enough to cause Hawke to arch her back and tighten her fingers in his hair.  He smirked, now, brushing his lips through the dark curls that covered her mound, and Hawke moaned softly.  “Please,” she begged, almost a whisper, although she knew he was only teasing her and would get to it eventually.  She was ready _now_.

“’ _Please,’_ is it?” he said, chuckling again and dragging his lips down her inner thigh to the back of her knee.  Hawke _groaned_ this time, tugging on his hair just a little bit, trying to get him to move his head back to where she wanted it.

“Please, Fenris,” she said, again, louder this time, twisting her fingers in the sheets when his fingers parted her and one found entry inside of her.  She arched again, pleased and surprised by the sudden, yet expected, intrusion, and then Fenris’s mouth was on her, parting her folds with his lips, his tongue seeking out her clitoris.  Hawke sighed with relief, squirming just slightly at the feel of it, already feeling the heat pool down, low, in her belly.  She was not going to last long, not after today, not after tonight, not after—

“Fenris!” she cried, digging her heels down into the mattress, fluttering her eyes closed.  His tongue lapped at her, twirled around her most sensitive spot and she moaned his name again, making herself release her tight grip on his hair.  He seemed to relax some, then, probably because she wasn’t yanking so hard, and instead her fingers danced up over his earlobe, to the pointed tip, which she gently pinched.  He stopped his movements for a moment and she could feel, more than see, him shudder.  Much more of that and he would be giving up his pleasuring of her, she knew, for elves were sensitive in their ears in more ways than one.

She felt his lips encircle her nub and suck on it lightly and Hawke shuddered, hooking her legs around Fenris’s waist to draw him closer to her.  One finger was joined by another, and he turned them inside of her, twisting, hooking them slightly.  Hawke felt herself convulse just once, just slightly, and he must have felt it, too, for he gazed up at her with those mossy green eyes and smiled wickedly before withdrawing his fingers and climbing her body, peppering it with licks, nips, and kisses.

“Fenris,” she whined, but then his lips were upon hers, his tongue teasing over her lower lip.  Hawke sighed and parted her lips to give him entry into her mouth and their tongues met, caressed, teased.  He moved to sit up, and he pulled her up with him, so that soon she was straddling his lap, his hard cock pressed between them, and she took the time to tease over his shaft with gentle fingers, stroking and rubbing the bead of precum from the head, licking its saltiness from her thumb.

Fenris moved his lips from hers down her jawline to her throat, where he brushed gently before nipping sharply, purposely causing marks to be left behind.  He always enjoyed that, always wished to leave markings on her neck, the more visible, the better.  Hawke shifted slightly, going up on her knees, and used one hand on his shoulder to hold her balance, the other hand guiding him to her entrance.  She grinned saucily at him before sliding down, her eyes half-closing, his closing all the way and her name lost in a moan on his lips.

It took a moment to adjust to his size, even now, after all their couplings, even now, with her wet and wanting, and his hands dropped down to her hips, to help steady her there.  Hawke pressed her forehead against Fenris’s, gazing into those mossy green eyes with her own brighter blue ones, and lifted herself, carefully, with her knees, before sliding back down.  Fenris closed his eyes and groaned, and Hawke slid both arms around his shoulders, pushing her bare breasts up against his chest.  His lyrium markings flared once, briefly, and then lay quiet.

“Fenris,” she said, quietly, and he breathed in deeply, moving his mouth to nuzzle on the side of her neck, that sweet spot right below her ear.  Hawke tilted her head to the side, to give him better access, and raised herself up on him again before sliding back down.  Fenris groaned and his fingers dug into the pale flesh of her hips as he pulled her down against him, harder, snapping his hips up to meet her.

Now it was Hawke’s turn to moan, and run her thumb up the lobe of one pointed ear.  He nearly purred, his reaction was so pleased, and so she replaced her thumb with her tongue and that got her an even more satisfying reaction; he lifted her hips up, lifted her up and almost off him, then pulled her back down, his cock filling her up all the way.  Fenris bit on her neck and suckled there, leaving yet another mark, and then murmured her name in her ear, that sweetly-said “Marian,” as he had done before.

Fenris lay back, and Hawke helped him down, staying on top, straddling him with a knee on either side of his hips, his length buried deep inside of her.  She pressed her fingers to his chest, to give herself better purchase, and pushed herself up, slid herself back down.  It was a slow process, and one she relished, when they did it this way, but Fenris was ready for more, apparently.  His hand dipped between her legs and found her clitoris again, pressing his thumb against her and using his free hand to keep her in place as he lifted his hips, pushed up deep inside of her. 

It was nearly too much to bear; it felt tremendous.  Hawke felt her head lolling, her hair dancing in shimmering waves along her bare back, and that heat pooled in her center again, the tension mounting.  Fenris moved his free and up her waist, to her breast, and thumbed the peaked nipple there, twisting it slightly between his fingers.  Hawke cried out in surprise and pleasure mingled and ground her hips down and towards his hand.

He reached for her shoulders, drew her down so that they could kiss, tongues mingling; she could still taste herself on him, if just barely.  Her breasts pushed down onto his chest again and he brought that hand up and squeezed one gently, almost as if he were afraid of hurting her.  Hawke’s hips rose and fell, grinding with each fall, feeling the lightning-prickles raise up inside of her.  She was going to come soon, and she gasped out the single word “soon” before Fenris captured her mouth with his own again.

In one swift movement, his hand was away from her and he was turning them over, so that he was atop her, her knees pushed up towards her chest.  Fenris brought his hand back down, adding pressure to her nub as he rubbed quick little circles around it.  His hips snapped forward and he was inside of her again, deeply.  Hawke clawed her nails down his shoulders, then brought her hands up to either one of his ears, stroking them with increasing pressure.  Fenris tilted his head back and closed his eyes, jerking his hips forward, sliding his cock in and out of her at a quickening speed.

“Ohh… ahhh,” Hawke called out, dropping her hands down to his shoulders to hold on.  It was too much, and not enough; she raised her hips up, hooked her legs around him and pulled him closer to her.  It was not enough, it was….

“ _Fenris_!” she cried out, louder than she meant to, and her body was coming, quivering, flushing with heat.  He followed her quickly, barely able to say her name before his marks flashed blue-white and he was collapsing on top of her, pulling her close and pressing kisses along her sweaty forehead, down to her cheeks and then over her lips.  Hawke laughed, a truly joyful sound, and held herself to him, watching the expression on his face change from lust-driven to something more like awed.

“Feeling better?” she asked, teasingly, and he chuckled and hid his face against the side of her neck, brushing kisses there.

“I could have sworn,” he said, “that you told me you would be my wife.  Was that part of this dream?”

“You are a smooth talker, serah,” she said, nuzzling the top of his head with her lips.  “I did indeed.  Are you changing your mind already?”

“Never,” he promised.  “Never.  I want you to be my wife.  I love you, and the entire world needs to know it.”

“No more fear?” she asked him, as he slid out of her slowly.  She made a mental note to double up on that tea in the morning; the man was too fond of his favorite spots for their own good, she thought.

“No more fear, Marian,” he assured her.  “Although I am… _concerned_ … we may never hear of the end of it from Varric.  Or Isabela.”

“They love us,” Hawke said, teasingly.  Fenris sat up, looked around seeking his smallclothes.  They had both learned that they could not sleep unclothed with Bethy around after the second time she climbed out of her crib. 

“They love any chance to tease, you mean,” he said.  Hawke found her smalls and pulled them on, and then got up and got a clean nightgown out of the drawer.  _He didn’t even let me get changed for bed_ , she thought, with a faint blush marking her cheeks.  But then, she wasn’t exactly in the mood to go to bed _then_ , herself.

“Oh, Maker,” she said, sitting up straight.  “If we get married, that means there’s going to be a wedding!”

“Usually one follows the other,” he said, dryly.

“Yes, but… Aveline!”  Fenris just chuckled, and Hawke tossed a pillow over at him.  “It’s not funny.  The woman was a nervous wreck over her wedding, but how do you think she’ll be about mine?!”

“Do you want a wedding?  We could just elope.”

“Oh, and how would that look?  The city’s Champion, eloping.”

“Eloping with an escaped slave and an elf, at that.”

“Well, they needed something to gossip about, at any rate,” she said, snuggling down into bed.  “Besides, I thought you had figured out by now that neither of those facts is going to scare me off.”

“But I am a free man, now.  At last, truly free,” he said, settling in behind her and cradling her against him, his lips next to her ear.  “And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I did promise you all those years ago that I’d help you kill Danarius.  Did you truly think I’d have let him take you back?”

“No,” he said.  “Not truly.”  He kissed her ear, held her more tightly to him.  “But it is nice to know you are a woman who keeps her promises, even years-old ones.”

“Already thinking about infidelity, serah?”  She tsked.  “What will the neighbors think?”

“Probably the same thing they think already.  But you would truly marry the Champion of Kirkwall to an escaped elven slave?”

“Of course I would.  Do you just keep asking me because you want to hear it, or because you honestly can’t believe it?  Or are you trying to talk me out of it?”

“Perhaps a bit of all three,” he said, kissing her ear again.  “But for now, I just like hearing it.  I spent so long alone….”

“You weren’t truly alone, you know.  You had friends.  You had me, and Bethy, once she came.”

“It’s just difficult for me to comprehend.  Perhaps in the morning, it will seem more like reality and less like a dream?”

“Is that a hint, Fenris?”

“I love you, Marian.  Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Broody,” she said, with a giggle.  He pinched her bottom, which only made her giggle harder.  “Goodnight, Fenris,” she said, as much to stop the giggling as to alleviate his fears. Hawke cuddled down, resting her head against his chest, her arms around his waist and his arms around hers.  It was pleasant, and comforting, and in the afterglow of… well, she supposed it would be called “engagement sex,” it was even better than usual.  Fenris sighed, a happy sound, and nuzzled his face against her hair.  The morning would come, Hawke knew, and then they would tell their friends, and then…

And then they would see what they would see.

* * *

“You’re kidding!” Isabela said, clapping her hands together in delight.  “You and Broody!”  She pointed to Hawke, grinning more widely.  “You have to tell me how it happened!”

“He asked me and I said yes.  I don’t know what more there is to tell,” she said, blushing faintly.  Perhaps, she considered, their discussions about magic should best be left out of such a tale.

“That can’t be all the way it happened, twit.  How’d he word it?  Did he get on his knee?  Where’s the ring?”

“He didn’t give me a ring,” Hawke replied.

“No ring?!” Isabela gasped in indignation.

“Well, I rather think the entire thing was a bit of spur-of-the-moment issue,” Hawke replied, rather weakly.

“But he’s got to get you a ring, poppet.  Otherwise, how else is Kirkwall going to know their Champion is a taken woman?”

“Isabela, I can’t ask him to get me a ring!”

“Whyever not?”

“Because you… you don’t _ask_ people to get you presents,” she said, stretching for a reason.

“Yes you do.  It’s called having a party.  Which, oooh!  You’re going to get to have a bridal party!  And a wedding!  Oh, Hawke, you’ve got to let me be in charge of your wedding.  I know you handled Big Girl’s and it was beautiful and all that good stuff but you’ve _really_ got to let me do your party up good.  Or at least your bachelorette party?  We can do it at the Blooming Rose.  They’ve got this amazing whore there, she does the _best_ dances—“

“’Bela, I don’t think I’m going to be having a party at the Rose,” Hawke said, feeling the conversation was running away from her.

“You’re no fun.  Well, there’s plenty of time to talk you into it.  Unless you’re going to elope.  Are you going to elope?  Please don’t elope, a wedding will be ever so much more fun!”

Hawke was sitting with Isabela at The Hanged Man, downstairs at the table they usually took, when they weren’t up in Varric’s suite.  She had left Bethy at home for the day, with Orana, who always seemed to enjoy watching the child, and she was nursing a glass of wine.  It was far too early for serious drinking.  Far too early for her, that is; it was never too early for Isabela. 

Fenris had parted from her earlier, saying that he had some business to attend to, and promised that he would catch her up at The Hanged Man later.  Hawke was fairly certain that, if things kept going the way they were, Isabela was going to have her entire wedding planned out.

“And to think,” Isabela was saying, and Hawke realized she had drifted there for a moment.  “You thought something was up with him.  I told you, sweet thing, you’ve got that man wrapped around your little finger.”  She threw back the rest of the jigger of whiskey and set the glass down with a satisfied smacking of her lips.  Hawke had to grin; Isabela was always so over-the-top with everything she did, so flamboyant.

“You have to admit,” Hawke said, “he _was_ acting suspicious.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Isabela finally agreed, after ordering another shot of whiskey.  “So am I really the first one to know?  You didn’t go tell Captain Man-Hands first?”

“You’re the first, ‘Bela,” Hawke agreed, with a sigh.

Isabela squealed and kicked her feet.  “I am _so_ holding this over Aveline’s head!”  Norah appeared with more whiskey, and Isabela went on.  “And she doesn’t even get to be your maid of honor!  You have to let me, Hawke.  I’m no maid, but if you don’t let me get to wear one of those pretty dresses again I’ll just die of horror.”

Hawke laughed.  “Yes, ‘Bela, I’m getting married specifically so you can be my maid of honor and wear a pretty dress.”

“I knew it,” Isabela said, then winked and drank down half the whiskey.  Hawke rolled her eyes and smiled, then sipped at her wine.  A glance up showed her Varric strapping Bianca on and coming down the stairs, and so Hawke waved him over.  Isabela turned, curious as to who Hawke was waving to, but lost interest once she saw it was their fine dwarven friend.  “And I knew it before he did, too,” she said, laughing to herself.

“Knew what?” Varric asked, taking a seat between the two women.

“Hawke and _Fenris_ ,” Isabela replied, mysteriously.

“Rivaini, if you didn’t know about Hawke and Fenris you’re deaf, dumb, and blind,” Varric said.

“No, you twit.  Hawke and Fenris…”  Hawke shook her head and decided to let Isabela break the news to Varric, since she seemed so intent on doing so.  “They’re getting married!”

“No shit?  Congratulations, Hawke!  Where’s Broody?  He’s not running already, is he?” Varric asked, with a laugh.  His eyes sparkled, and Hawke knew he was working up a way to write this into his next book.

“He had some things he needed to do,” Hawke said.  “He’ll be by in a little while.”

“Well, well,” Varric said, rubbing his chin and grinning.  “First Aveline, and now you.  Next’ll be Rivaini and Daisy.”

“Will _not_ ,” Isabela said, quite adamantly.  “You wouldn’t catch me getting married again with a ten foot pole.”

“’Bela, that made no sense,” Hawke said, and the Rivaini laughed.

“It doesn’t matter, sweet thing.  You won’t catch me marrying anyone.  Kitten’s nice enough to play with, and so is Junior, but I’m not the marrying type.”

“Perhaps you’ll be next to be married, then, Varric,” Hawke said, teasingly, but she didn’t miss the quick look of sadness that flashed across his face.

“You know me,” he said, and patted his crossbow.  “I’ve already got Bianca and I’m a one-crossbow man.”

“That’s why I’m marrying Fenris,” Hawke said, with a wink.  “Bianca stands in my way again.”

“It’s about time you two kids decided to tie the knot,” Varric said, leaning on one elbow in his chair.  “What spurred him on?  He _did_ ask you, right?  It wasn’t the other way around?”

“He asked me, and I think he felt it was time, now that Danarius is dead.”

“Nobody else’ll be coming after him, sure.  Good timing for it,” Varric agreed.  His fingers twitched, and Hawke could almost see him writing this down.  She hoped he was taking good notes in his head.  “Speaking of…”  Hawke turned to the doorway and saw Fenris standing there, smiling at her.  Actually smiling!  She grinned at him in return and waved him over, and Fenris made his way to the table, pulling a chair from another table to join them.

“Congratulations, Broody!” Varric said, clapping him on the (non-spikey part) of his shoulder.  “I didn’t think you had it in you to make the Champion an honest woman!”

“I’ve always been honest, Varric,” Hawke said, in a faux-chiding tone of voice.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Varric asked Fenris, ignoring Hawke.  “If you don’t get hitched soon, Hawke won’t get to be a summer bride.”

“Is that important?” Fenris asked, suddenly looking uncomfortable.  He darted a glance at Hawke, who shook her head.

“Is it important?  Is it _important?!”_ Varric asked, sounding more outraged by the word.  “All women want to be summer brides!  It’s the biggest event of the season!  Why do you think Aveline and Donnic got married so quickly?  It was so she could be a summer bride!”

“Varric,” Hawke said, warningly.  “Don’t scare the poor man off.”

“No, if we do this, we need to do it right,” Fenris said, flushing up to his ears.  Isabela chuckled darkly and finished up her jigger of whiskey.

“Listen, elf, you’d better hurry up and make the preparations or Hawke’ll have to be a winter bride and nobody wants that!”

“Varric!” Hawke warned again.

“Fall brides are even worse.  Or are you going to make the poor woman wait until spring?  Or next summer?”  Hawke groaned and settled back in her chair, sipping at her wine.  Varric was on a tear to tease Fenris and there was going to be nothing Hawke could do to stop it.  She might as well enjoy the show.

* * *

Hawke was teaching Bethy how to count.  It was going very slowly.

“One,” she said, putting down one wooden block.  Bethy looked at her, confused, and then repeated the word.

“Two,” she said, putting down a second block.  Again, Bethy looked at her, confused, but she didn’t repeat the word this time.  Instead, she took the two blocks and banged them together, laughing.  Hawke sighed and shook her head, her long, dark locks of hair sweeping against her back as she did so.

“Hello, Hawke,” said Aveline, from the doorway to the library.  Hawke turned where she sat and gave her friend a smile.

“Just the woman I wanted to see,” she said, waving her in. 

“Having fun with the baby, I see,” Aveline said, making herself comfortable in one of the chairs.

“Trying to teach her how to count.  I wish they did that in Chantry School, instead of just reading to her and letting her play with the toys, but…” She trailed off and shrugged.  “Listen, I’ve got something exciting to tell you,” she said, voice rising in anticipation.

“You’re getting married?” Aveline guessed, and Hawke’s face fell.  Aveline chuckled lightly.  “Sorry to ruin the surprise, but Isabela already found me and told me.  Good on you two for finally tying the knot, but you should have done it sooner.  Now I can’t be a maid of honor at your wedding.”

“But I got to be one at yours, and that was worth it, I think.  Besides, Fenris wasn’t ready, and maybe I wasn’t, either.”

“Well, it’s about time the two of you got your heads out of your asses.”

“Aveline!” Hawke scolded, gesturing towards Bethy, who was more intent on the blocks than she was her aunt.  “Language.”

“She’s heard worse than that from worse than me,” Aveline said, but the flush that rose onto her cheeks told Hawke that she was, in part, sorry for the slip-up.  “So, any idea of when you’re actually going to get married?”

“We haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” Hawke said, standing up from her spot on the floor and straightening out the skirts of her dress.  “It’s only been two days since he asked me, anyway.”

“Was it romantic?” Aveline asked, in almost a hushed tone of voice, and Hawke had to laugh to herself.

“I think it was.  He called me his ‘love’ and then asked me to marry him,” Hawke replied, blushing, and settled in the other armchair, crossing her legs. 

“Isabela didn’t tell me that!” Aveline said.

“I didn’t tell her.  She was teasing enough as it was, I didn’t want to give her any more ammunition,” Hawke said.  She grinned and winked.  “Besides, it’s not fair that she got to know _all_ the details before you.”

Aveline grinned back.  “I’m glad I got to know something first, then.  Maker, the wedding of the Champion is going to be the security nightmare of whatever season you decide to make it.  I’ll need to hire on some extra guards, just to keep things to a minimum of bedlam.”

“Sorry that my ‘happiest day’ is going to be your security nightmare, Aveline,” Hawke said, feeling a desire to stick her tongue out at the other woman.  Aveline just waved it off.

“It is what it is.  You deserve happiness, too, Hawke, and I’m glad you’ve found some with Fenris.”

“So am I,” Hawke said, sighing happily.  Then she realized what she did and mentally smacked herself.  She may be a woman in love, but she wasn’t going to turn into some silly, simpering _girl_ just because she was.  Happy sighing over love and wedding ideas was _right out_.

She and Aveline chatted some more before the press of duty called the Guard-Captain away, and just as Hawke was seeing her out, Merrill dropped by.

“Oh, Hawke, it’s so lovely to see you home,” Merrill cooed, giving Hawke a hug.  “I just dropped by to water your plants for you.”

“Merrill, you don’t have to do that, you know,” Hawke told her, returning the hug.  “But I appreciate it.”

“I enjoy doing it, and it gets me out of the house a little bit,” Merrill replied.  “Varric keeps on about how I’m going to wilt if I stay in my house much longer.  _I’m_ not a plant, I’m not going to wilt if I don’t get a little bit of sunshine and fresh air.  Besides, sometimes I run into you and that makes the trip out worth it.”

As usual, Hawke was overwhelmed by the onslaught of Merrill’s speech.  The little Dalish was perfectly sweet and pleasant, but she rambled something awful and once she got on a topic she liked, she could go on for what seemed like hours. 

“—and I was hoping I’d get to see little Bethy, too.  My, but she’s so big now, I can hardly believe it,” Merrill went on.

“Well, it’s good to see you, too, Merrill,” Hawke said, trying to get a word in edgewise.  “I hope you’ll stay for some tea.”

“Oh my, yes, that would be lovely, thank you,” Merrill replied, and Hawke carried Bethany into the kitchen with her.  Merrill trailed behind, and Hawke put Bethy in her special little chair while she got the kettle together for tea.

“How have things been, Merrill?  I don’t get to see you as often as I’d like.”  It was true; she would like to see Merrill more often, if nothing else, to make sure she was keeping her away from blood magic.  Merrill almost seemed naïve about the practice, refusing to think that blood magic was different from other kinds, but Hawke had seen, time and again, how blood magic led to abuses.  She didn’t want that for Merrill, for many reasons, least of all was that they were friends, of a sort, and she enjoyed their time together.  But Merrill was a powerful mage, and knew some kinds of magic that other mages, especially circle-trained mages, never learned, and if she succumbed to a demon, or if she decided she wanted more power, using her blood magic could spell disaster for more than just Merrill.

“They’ve been fine, Hawke, thank you for asking,” Merrill replied, sitting down across from Bethy and making silly faces at the child.  Bethy stared at Merrill, taking in her green eyes and pointed ears.

“Da da,” she said, but she sounded confused.  “Ears.”  She touched her own ears; they had been a little elongated at birth, but had since settled into normal human ears.  Anders had confessed that a lot about babies were exaggerated at birth, and given how much she had changed, Hawke could see that was true.  The blue eyes, for instance, turning green.

“That’s right,” Merrill said.  “Your da da has ears like mine.” 

“Lil ears,” Bethy said, touching her ears again.  It was a game they had just started playing, naming body parts, and Bethy was picking up on it very quickly.

Hawke explained the game to Merrill, who quickly picked it up and taught Bethy a song that Dalish children sang to learn their bodies.  Hawke tried to memorize it; it sounded cute enough, and easy to remember, and Bethy laughed and clapped at it.  She loved getting attention of any kind, and Merrill seemed happy to provide it.

Tea was soon ready, and Hawke joined Merrill in a cup of it.  They talked of simple things, and then Hawke happened to mention wedding plans.

“What wedding plans?  Who’s getting married?” Merrill asked, innocently, sipping the hot tea.

“Oh, Merrill, we forgot to tell you!” Hawke exclaimed, shaking her head.  “Fenris asked me to marry him.”

“Oh, he did?!  That’s wonderful!” Merrill exclaimed, happily, taking Hawke’s hand and squeezing it in excitement. 

“Yes,” Hawke agreed, to both.  “He asked me the night we killed Danarius.”

“Oh, that was a nasty fight,” Merrill said, shaking her head.  “But I’m glad it’s done.  The world needs fewer slavers in the world, and those Tevinter magisters seem a right nasty sort.”

“Yes, they do, don’t they?” Hawke said, sipping her own tea.  “But he must have been waiting to ask me until after Danarius is dead.  Isabela and Varric wasted no time in teasing him, either,” Hawke added, with a laugh.

“He needs a bit of teasing.  Although he might smile a bit more.  His face hasn’t cracked yet, from what I’ve seen.  Has it cracked lately?  Surely he’s got to be happy, now that he’s going to get married to you and have a family.”

“I haven’t noticed his face cracking yet,” Hawke said, smiling brightly.  “Maybe we should just give it time.”

“Do you have a date picked out?” Merrill asked.

“Cookie?” Bethy suggested, and Hawke fetched her one of the cookies they were beginning to routinely keep in the house, thanks to Orana.  The woman seemed to obsessively bake the things, and Hawke knew she had put on a little bit of weight from how many she had eaten.

“No, we haven’t got a date yet,” Hawke said.  “We’ve barely had time to talk about it.  He’s been out and running around Kirkwall doing who knows what.  I think he’s, in part, just enjoying his freedom.  It must be nice to be able to walk around without that wolf at his back.

“Oh, you should think about doing it in the winter.  Satinalia would be nice,” Merrill said.  “You could get married out in the snow and wear blue and silver, sort of like Aveline’s dress.  Dalish brides wear green, you know, but I know humans and city elves wear blue when they get married.”

“I hadn’t even gotten that far,” Hawke confessed.  “I’m going to have another whole wedding to plan.  By the time I’m done with this, I’m going to have to hope nobody else decides to get married.  Maker, next thing you know, Carver’ll be asking you.”

“Me?” Merrill said, taken aback.  “Why me?”

“You know he fancies you,” Hawke said.  “It’s obvious by this point, I would hope.”

“I didn’t think Carver was the kind to get married, honestly,” Merrill said, somewhat sadly.  “And templars… I don’t think it would be smart of him to marry me, with him being a templar.”

“You’re probably right,” Hawke said, some of her levity dying.  “But if he could marry someone, I’m sure it would be you.”

“I think I might marry him, if he asked.  I like him well enough.  He’s certainly good at swording.”  Maker, she hoped that wasn’t a euphemism.  She wasn’t sure Merrill knew how to use innuendo, though.

“He’s always been good at that,” she agreed, instead of saying something that might embarrass them both.  “My mother always hoped for us to marry and have children.  I guess I’m just going about things the wrong way around.”

“Well, it’s not the wrong way around if it’s the way you’re doing things.  It’s the right way for you,” Merrill told her, matter-of-factly.

“I guess it is the right way for me, at that,” Hawke said, smiling gently.

“Did he get you a ring?  Can I see it?” Merrill asked.

“Did who get you a ring?” said Fenris, coming into the kitchen.  He looked slightly worse for the wear, and had obviously just gotten home.

“Did you get her a ring, Fenris?  Isn’t that the human custom?” Merrill asked, innocently.

Fenris looked at Hawke, confused.  “Am I supposed to know what the witch is talking about?”

Hawke sighed and set her teacup down.  “It’s an engagement thing, Fenris.  Sometimes the man gets the woman a ring, to mark a sign of their engagement.”

“And you are upset that you do not have one,” Fenris said, in slow understanding.  His head ducked down, bangs hiding his face, and Hawke sighed again.

“No, Fenris, really.  I can buy rings if I really want them.  I just really want you.  But this is your decision.  If you want to go out and buy me a ring, it’ll probably shut everyone up from asking.  But I’m not going to ask you to.  It’s just a ring.”

“I… see,” Fenris said, and shot a look at Merrill.  “It is customary, however?”

“From what I know of humans, it is.  We Dalish sometimes get each other rings, or necklaces.”

“ _Fasta vass_ ,” Fenris cursed, and sat beside Hawke at the table.  “I know nothing of these customs.  I know as much as I do now only because Donnic and Aveline so recently wed.”

Hawke nudged him lightly with her elbow.  “Hey, I meant what I said.  I don’t need a ring.  I’ve got rings.  I just need you.”  He smiled a tight smile at her, and Merrill smiled at them both.

“I think that’s my cue to leave.  Come visit me at home tomorrow, Hawke, and we’ll talk some more about your wedding.  And bring Bethy!  I promise I’ll clean up and there won’t be any dirt or… um… furry friends to bother her there.”

“Thank you for visiting Merrill.  I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow!” she called, with a wave, and then Merrill was seeing herself out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t know about the ring,” Fenris said, softly.  “Have they made much to do about it?”

“Don’t worry, Fenris.  It really isn’t a big deal.  If you want to get me one, we’ll go out some time this week and see about getting one.  But I’m just glad you’ve decided you want to spend your life with me and make it official.”

“I knew I wanted to be with you long ago, Marian.  I just didn’t feel I could.  Until now.”  She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek.

“Want to take this into the library?” Hawke asked, rising from her chair and getting Bethany out of hers.  “It’s more comfortable in there.”

“Wherever you go, I will follow,” Fenris said, seriously, and Hawke couldn’t suppress a beaming smile.  She felt giddy, sometimes, around him, especially when he said sweet things like that.

The rest of the evening went on as usual for them, with an air of domesticity and calm that left Hawke feeling relaxed and happy, and it was little surprise that she ended up falling asleep, curled up next to Fenris, sated and content, and ready for what the morrow would bring.


	36. Pretty Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke is bored of being a housewife. Maybe Aveline has the cure for her boredom.

“Mama, I do it,” Bethy said, pulling at the dress that Hawke was (valiantly) trying to tug over her head.

“Let mama do it, darling,” Hawke said, but Bethy pulled away and shrieked.

“I do it!” she said, pulling the dress out of Hawke’s hands, and Hawke sighed deeply. 

“Bethy, you are being very naughty right now,” she warned.

“No, I good.  I do it,” Bethy said, and stuck her arm into the dress where her head was supposed to go.  In a matter of minutes, she had it on, but upside down.  “See?  I do it!”

“Can I help?” Hawke asked her, weakly.

It was a battle they were having to fight more and more often, as Bethy got older.  The little girl was showing quite the stubborn streak, and quite the temper, flashing hot and then trying to diffuse the situation by turning on the charm. 

Aveline laughed about it and said she was glad she’d managed to talk Donnic out of children for the time being.  Isabela laughed about it and said she was glad she could turn Bethy back over to Hawke and go home.  Varric chuckled and encouraged her to be her worst, which Hawke strongly disapproved of.  Sebastian seemed to not know what to do with her, and generally, when Bethy started acting up, retreated to the Chantry, saying he needed to pray.  Hawke didn’t blame him; she felt like disappearing and praying herself, some days.

It wasn’t that Bethy was a bad child; she was generally well-behaved, in fact.  But there were times, and those times were growing more often and closer together, that she sorely tested Hawke’s patience. 

Fenris was another story.  Bethy had him wrapped around her little finger.  The elf seemed to indulge her in whatever she wanted with the exception of the much-loved cookies, even letting the child stay up past a sane bedtime (and with Hawke trying to give him bedroom eyes to spur him along in his decision to put Bethy to bed) if it made her happy.

It certainly didn’t make Hawke happy, but it was what it was.

Eventually, Hawke got the dress on Bethy the correct way, and noted that they would need to get some warmer clothes relatively soon.  Longer sleeves for the dresses, and some more socks; it was getting to be fall, with All Soul’s Day more than a month behind them, and Hawke wasn’t going to get caught unprepared.  Bethy seemed to go through clothes like mad; it was almost as if she wore an outfit once, maybe twice, before she had outgrown it and needed a new one. 

Between the spoiled attitude and the outgrowing clothes, Hawke was finding motherhood much more trying now than she was before.  Bethy getting closer to being two years old didn’t help matters; it wasn’t for naught that the other mothers at the Chantry School talked of their children going through the “terrible twos,” she thought to herself.

There was also the fact, and she was loath to mention this to anyone, so she kept it to herself, that Bethy was… well, growing up.  She would think back on the tiny infant she first held to her breast, the little baby who could do nothing but depend on her mother, and feel tears well up in her eyes.  She was still young, and if she and Fenris _were_ to marry, perhaps…

No, it was still too early to think about more children, and with the tensions mounting in Kirkwall between the mages and the templars, and with everything seeming to be absolutely insane, there would be no way she could excuse herself away from the situation for a year, and no way she would be able to hide a pregnancy.  Back when she was newly Champion… well, it was difficult to figure out how she could hide it then.  Now, when she was an established part of Kirkwall society, when _everyone_ knew her and relied on her to be the foil between Meredith and Orsino? 

No, she had to face the facts: until things settled down tremendously, and until Meredith was replaced with an actual Viscount, she would have to be content with just Bethy. 

Which was good, she tried to tell herself, because Bethy was a handful.  She got into everything, making huge messes all over the house.  Somehow, she had gotten into the privy and threw rolls of privy paper around, causing Orana to mutter the first curse Hawke had ever heard from the little elven woman.  Bodahn tried to be encouraging, but when she managed to get into a (cold) fireplace and strewed the ashes everywhere, even he started to give up.  Only Sandal (and Hero, strictly speaking) maintained any level of happy sanity with the toddler, neither of them being affected too harshly by her intense decision to make life nearly unbearable in the household.

It seemed as though Hawke bore the brunt of the burden as well, for Fenris found himself called away more and more, often by Aveline, sometimes by Varric.  Slavers were being more active in and around the Kirkwall area and Fenris was always the go-to for hunting them down, in part because he enjoyed it so much and in part because he was a competent fighter and was willing to do it.  So, Hawke was left home with Bethy more often than not, although she always offered to go on the jobs with her elf.  Fenris turned her down every time, usually wording it in such a way that she felt she couldn’t argue with him on the reasons why she should just stay home.

Overall, however, life was fairly good during the month of Kingsway.  The weather was turning cooler, which was never a problem for the Ferelden-born Hawke, and word was starting to get out about her engagement, probably thanks in large part to Varric and his rather large mouth (and penchant for telling whatever stories and gossip he thought he could get away with.)  The de Launcets had already been by to try to talk her out of such a course of action, and it was only a long-standing familial friendship that kept Dulci from being kicked out of the Hawke estate, quite literally.  Kirkwall Society was scandalized that Hawke, Champion and noble that she was, even if only a noble by the skin of her teeth, was choosing to marry a former elven slave. 

Fenris, not surprisingly, took much more offense to the offense than Hawke herself did, and she had to have several long talks with him that revolved around the subject of her being perfectly content with her choice in a future husband, reminding him that _he_ was Bethany’s father and shouldn’t be planning on going anywhere, anyway, before he finally started settling down enough to ignore some of the sneers and rumors that were sent their way.  Hawke had little enough care for what Kirkwall Society thought even when her mother was alive; now that she was finally in a position where she was _happy_ and doing something about it, there was no way she was giving it up simply because his ears were not rounded enough for their pleasure, or his blood the perfect shade of blue for their contentment.

For now, though, Hawke was learning to play the housewife to someone who was acting more the mercenary than ever before, even if it was mercenary working in conjunction with the city guard, and mercenary taking out mainly slavers, but mercenary all the same.  Playing housewife was something she hadn’t truly had a thought to do, in her life, not seriously, and she was finding that staying at home was driving her insane, slowly, by inches. 

For a Hawke used to fighting against something much more tangible (and profitable) than housewifely duties, the job of taking care of Bethy was something she was, she thought to herself, ill-equipped to do, and nothing made her feel this way more than attempting to train Bethy to use the privy.

It wasn’t that Bethy was picking up the skill slowly; indeed, she was picking it up rather quickly, according to the other mothers who took their children to the Chantry School and had already gone through such a process.  It was the process itself which was difficult, and irritating.  And Hawke bore the majority of the burden of it, as Fenris was not there, Orana recused herself from the duty, and she couldn’t ask Bodahn or trust Sandal.  Therefore, the duty fell to her, as rough as it was, and most days found Hawke rushing Bethy into the privy, hoping that this was the time she didn’t soil her nappie, a prayer to the Maker that this was the time that the child picked up on what was supposed to be happening.

It was slow going, and something Hawke complained about at length, which did not serve to make her any more popular with her friends.  They were mostly accompanying Fenris on his jobs, or going about their lives without privy-training, and few wanted to listen to Hawke lament another day wasted.  Merrill was the exception; she seemed fascinated with Hawke’s mothering of Bethy, and was always up for a visit, and discussions of child rearing in the human world as compared to child rearing amongst the Dalish.  Not that Merrill had much in the way of experience with child rearing, but training as First did teach her many things, and taking care of children was one of them.

In between privy-training, trying to get Bethy to behave, Chantry School, and the everyday dealings of having a very strong-willed toddler, Hawke’s friends pressured her about when she and Fenris were finally going to have their wedding.  Over a month had passed since his proposal and they still had not picked a date, and Hawke was no closer to making a decision as to when to actually have the ceremony than she was the day Fenris asked her. 

In fact, there were no wedding plans whatsoever, other than a vague idea that they were going to have one.  Every time Hawke tried to sit Fenris down to discuss it, they wound up seeing who could out-nervous the other on the discussion.  Wanting to get married was all very fine indeed, they seemed to think, but the actual _plans_ were just too much pressure, and so conversations would eventually gravitate away from “when do _you_ want to get married?” to small details about the most recently-killed group of slavers that Fenris came up against, or small tidbits about how Bethy was doing, or how well marriage suited Aveline (this topic came up a lot, as a natural gravitation away from the subject of their own impending marriage and just as regular gossip.)  It wasn’t that Fenris and Hawke didn’t want to get married.  It was more like they wanted the wedding, and all the build-up to the wedding, to already be over with so they could get along with the business of being a married couple.

The subject of elopement came up more than once. 

* * *

The month of Harvestmere began with a chill, and it was with cool temperatures and a blustery wind that Feastday greeted the Hawke household.  Hawke was insistent that _this_ Feastday only be about family, and refused to accept any of their friends over for the celebrations, using soft words to get them to do their own thing, this time.  Instead, she bothered Gamlen until he and Charade both promised to come, and wrote letter after letter to Carver in the Gallows until he promised he would see about getting some time off to come over and eat with them.  Hawke even promised to delay suppertime until Carver was able to come, so long as the templar let her know a time, but he just grumbled (Grumbled!  Even written replies read as grumbling!) and said he’d be there when he was there.

Hawke had spent the day before with Orana in the kitchen, cooking up a storm so that the family would have plenty to eat, and got up earlier than usual in order to get the roast on for that evening’s meal.  Soon, Feastday cooking smells filled the house and whetted everyone’s appetites, for Bethy constantly asked when they were finally going to get to eat the yummy foods, and even Fenris bothered Hawke more than once on the matter, simply laughing when she smacked him on the arm and told him to get out of her kitchen, she’d be ready when she was ready.

And then it was evening time, and Carver had shown up (with Merrill!) and Gamlen was there, along with Charade.  Orana, Bodahn, and Sandal were invited to eat along with the rest of the family (they were, after all, family, said Hawke) and even Anders was sought out and invited to grab some food to take back to his room (because Hawke had no desire to listen to arguments and bickering between Fenris and Anders, for one, and because she wanted to keep it down to just family, for another.) 

It was obvious, from watching Gamlen’s interactions with Bethy, that the man truly did not know how to deal with children.  Hawke thought it was a good thing that Charade was as old as she was, or else Gamlen would have been having a much harder time coping.  As it was, he was trying, and it amused Hawke to no small end to watch him talk oh so seriously with Bethy about Chauncey and blocks and books.  The slightly panicked look on his face when Bethy announced to him that she needed to use the “pretty” was priceless, although he was excused from that particular job and Fenris saw to Bethy’s needs instead.  Charade was much better at dealing with Bethy than Gamlen was, giving Hawke the idea that she had been around children a lot more than her father had.

Hawke made a valiant attempt to corner Carver and ask him what his intentions were towards Merrill, exactly.  She had made no secret that she had wanted to leave her friends to their own devices this day, and just have family at the house (and Anders, and the servants, but you couldn’t have everything) and Carver dodged and avoided the questions brilliantly until finally he could run from them no more.

“I just thought she’d enjoy being with us today, is all,” he said, somewhat defiantly.

“Are you wanting to marry her?” Hawke asked, straightforward.

“Maker’s breath, that’s the last thing I need, is to marry anyone.  No, sister.  I just… enjoy her company, is all.”

“Yes, well, make sure you enjoy her company quietly, and you’re nice to her, or else I’ll kill you.”  Carver blushed brilliantly.

“Yes, right, well…”

“Yes,” Hawke said, and that was the end of that.

Dinner itself was well received by all.  Hawke and Orana got their fair share and more of praise for the delicious foods they cooked for the family, and there was plenty to eat with leftovers to send home with Gamlen and Charade and Merrill, and with even more left for tomorrow for Hawke’s household.  Carver lamented that he had no place to store the leftovers, nor anything to do with them, or else he’d take some, as well.  Inviting him back for more seemed to not please him, but Carver was grumpy at the best of times and sometimes, Hawke felt, nothing pleased him at all.  Although he did seem happy enough around Merrill, and Hawke found that very telling.

With the days getting shorter, night was coming on much more quickly, and Hawke made sure that Gamlen and Charade left out before it got dark, so that they could walk back to his place in Lowtown (where Charade was staying, temporarily, before going back to Tantervale on business for the Red Jennies) in semi-safety (for how safe was Kirkwall, truly, even during the day and the best of times?) and Carver and Merrill promised to escort them both safely back to their home, so Hawke found herself with not much to do and a much emptier house quite suddenly.

It was almost like a loss, after having her family there with her all day, and Hawke realized how empty her mansion felt to her during most of the day, especially when Fenris wasn’t home.  The house was huge, with plenty of room for Carver, and for more children, and for people visiting, and Hawke was saddened by the fact that it _was_ so empty.  But she did have Fenris there, and Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana, and Anders haunting her cellar, and, of course, Bethany, there to keep her humble and grounded no matter what, and so Hawke forced herself into a sort of cheerfulness.

Once everyone had gone, and it was just her and Fenris and Bethy again, Fenris started acting a bit nervous, and it wasn’t until after they had put Bethany to bed that evening that Hawke discovered exactly why he was so nervous.

“I must speak with you,” he said to her, taking her hand and leading her into the library.  Fenris settled on the sofa and Hawke sat beside him, arching a delicate brow over how conflicted he seemed to be.

“Fenris, whatever you need to talk to me about, it’s fine.  I’m here and I’m not going to get mad.”

“I didn’t think—You would not get mad over this.  I simply… do not know how to proceed.”

“Well, the night isn’t getting any younger.  Perhaps you should just talk to me about whatever is troubling you?”

He reached into the pocket of his tunic, his brows drawn down in irritated concentration, and then withdrew something and thrust it into Hawke’s hands, closing her fingers around it.

“I got you a ring,” he said, and, indeed, Hawke opened her hands to see that he had put said ring there.  It was quite lovely, delicate, with blue stones, and Hawke’s mouth dropped open as she held it up to look at it better.

“Oh Fenris,” she said, marveling at it.  “It’s so beautiful!  But you didn’t have to get me a ring.”

“I wanted to.  It was the proper thing to do, and I wanted to, so I did.”  His nervousness seemed to be melting away and he settled back on the sofa, a lot more comfortable than he had been when they entered the room.  “I take it you like it?”

“It’s so pretty, I love it,” Hawke said, trying the ring on her finger and turning it this way and that so the stones caught the light.  “Thank you, Fenris.  This was very thoughtful of you.”  Hawke leaned over and brushed her lips against his cheek and he reached up and touched her jawline gently with the tips of his fingers.

“I want you to be happy, Marian,” he said, softly, almost somberly.  “You and Bethy mean everything to me.”

“You mean everything to me, too,” she said, seriously.  She lifted her hand slowly, ran her fingers over his hair, and Fenris leaned in to her touch and closed his eyes.  “I’m so lucky to have you and Bethy both.  I’m glad Danarius is dead now and you are free.  I’d kill him a hundred times over if it meant keeping you with me.  I am only sorry about your sister.”

“It was her choice,” he replied, voice rough for an instant.  He sat up and opened his eyes, shook his head.  “It was her choice to betray me.  She could have had everything I have and more, if she had only valued family over her chance to become a magister.”  He spat the last word and Hawke sighed to herself.  _Shouldn’t have brought it up; that’s on me, I suppose,_ she thought.

“You’re going to have a brother now, though,” she said, trying to nudge the subject somewhere happier.  “How does that make you feel?”  Fenris watched her, shrewdly, a little smirk playing on his lips that said he knew what she was doing and appreciated it.

“I do not know.  I am unsure of how I am supposed to feel.  It _is_ Carver, after all.”

“And he’s a bit of a tit,” Hawke said, causing his lips to quirk up into a truer smile.

“He is at that.  He seems quite smitten with Merrill.  Is that wise of him, being a templar as he is?”

“No, it’s not, but far be it from me to tell him what he should and shouldn’t be doing with his love life,” she said, shaking her head, dark locks dancing around her face.  “As long as they’re both happy, I guess it’s best that I not try to interfere.”

“Mmm.”  Fenris made a hum of agreement and tilted his head back onto the sofa, closing his eyes again.  “Your uncle seems to be doing well with his surprise fatherhood.”

“Yes!  I’m surprised at that, myself,” she replied, snuggling up against him and getting a smile for her efforts.  Hawke smiled back and rested her head on Fenris’s shoulder, lifting her hand to admire the ring again.  It really _was_ pretty, and extremely thoughtful of him.  _This must be why he’s been taking so many mercenary jobs lately_ , she thought.  It was just like Fenris, to surprise her with his thoughtfulness.

“It is incredible, finding out you are going to have a child.  The feeling is like none other in the world,” Fenris went on, stroking his hand down Hawke’s back slowly. 

“Imagine being the woman,” she replied, with a chuckle. 

“It is not the same, Hawke,” he said, dryly.

“Of course it’s not.  That’s why I said, _imagine being the woman_.  It’s quite a bit different for us.  You could have decided you wanted nothing to do with Bethy and myself, but I didn’t have that decision to make.”

“I could not have decided that,” Fenris argued, bringing his hand to rest on the curve of her hip.  “Hawke, I could not have left you alone, much less Bethy.  I am yours.”

“And I am yours,” she said, kissing his chin quickly, and Fenris angled his face down so that their lips met.  Before the kiss could go on too long, Hawke pulled away and grinned at him.  “How about we take this upstairs?  Everyone else is asleep, but…”

She laughed as Fenris growled in agreement and tugged her up to follow him up the stairs.

* * *

“Mama,” Bethy said, tugging on Hawke’s skirts.

“And, well, we’ve just not got a date picked out yet,” she said to Aveline, crossing her arms under her breasts and trying to not let the blush show on her face.  It was halfway through Harvestmere and she and Fenris _still_ had not decided on the “when” part of their marriage.  It was easier not to talk about it, because otherwise, they wound up talking circles around each other.  “What do you want to do?”  “I don’t know, what do _you_ want to do?”  It was frustrating.

“Mama,” Bethy said again, tugging the skirts of Hawke’s robe.  “Pretty.  Gotta pretty.”

“What?  Oh, yes.  Privy, Bethy.  Excuse me, Aveline.”  She took Bethy’s hand and walked to the downstairs privy and waited while Bethy saw to her business. 

It was actually a perfect time for an interruption, she thought, leaning against the wall.  Aveline had been going on, _again_ , about Hawke picking out a date for her wedding.  Hawke just wanted the wedding itself over with; every time she thought about it, she was overcome with nerves that were unlike her, and she just couldn’t make any decisions for herself.  Aveline was getting worse about hounding Hawke about the subject, as well, which wasn’t doing Hawke any favors in the nerves department.  And when she managed to catch Hawke and Fenris _together_ , it was ridiculous.  She had even bullied Donnic into getting on to Fenris about it at the weekly Diamondback games that he held at his mansion.

Hawke winced, thinking about Fenris’s mansion.  That was another thing that Aveline was going on about.  She was, apparently, losing the ability, quickly, to dissemble regarding the mansion, and Seneschal Bran was starting to close in on it.  Fenris had no real legal claim to it, and the place _was_ a mess, something that needed to be cleaned up, Hawke admitted, but it was also Fenris’s, and she wasn’t going to push him along into something he wasn’t ready for, which, in this case, was getting rid of the mansion.

Hawke helped Bethy finish up, then lavishly praised her about what an excellent job she did.  She found lavish praise worked nearly as well as…

“Cookie?” Bethy asked, holding her hand out.

“Wash your hands first,” Hawke said, and demonstrated in the washbasin.  Bethy had more fun splashing in the water than actually washing her hands, and managed to get the top of her dress soaked while doing it.  Hawke just sighed and used a bit of toweling to sop up as much water as possible, then, shaking her head, decided that a complete outfit change was going to be necessary.  Ah well.  _Aveline will just have to wait a bit longer_ , she thought.

It _had_ been nice, showing off the ring Fenris got her.  Aveline, not one given much to jewelry, had admired it and immediately asked if it was enchanted or anything, to give Hawke extra protection out on the field.  That caused Hawke to laugh for quite a while; the first thing her friend thought of was fighting benefits.  As it turned out, the ring _was_ enchanted; the blue stones weren’t just for decoration, but increased the power of her elemental spells, which Hawke appreciated greatly.  But, it was still funny that that was the first thing Aveline thought of.

Bethy changed, given a cookie, and back downstairs, Hawke was relieved that Aveline wasn’t too put out with her for taking so long.

“It takes as long as it takes with a toddler,” Aveline said, with a shrug.  “Besides, it’s nice to have a little bit of peace and quiet.  Your place is just about the only time I get any, lately.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Hawke replied.  “Bethy makes enough noise to easily match the barracks.”

“But I’m not having to do paperwork and I’m not having to be ‘on’ for my men.  It’s a nice change, that’s all I’m saying,” Aveline said.

“Are you getting tired of being Guard-Captain already?” Hawke asked her, settling down in one of the armchairs while Bethy sat down with a book and began looking at the pictures.

“Absolutely not,” Aveline said.  “But it’s still nice to have a break once in a while.  With all those templars in there now…”

Hawke shuddered.  With Meredith in charge, she had templars _everywhere_ , and that included guarding the guards.  “Is there no way to kick them out?”

“Not that I’ve found,” Aveline said, shaking her head.  “Until we get a real Viscount in office, I’m afraid it’s going to be templars all the way down, the way things are looking.”

“You would think that Meredith would at least trust the guard to do what’s right without templar involvement,” Hawke said, settling her chin on her fist and scowling.

“It’s probably because we’re well known to be friends, and you’re well known to oppose the Knight-Commander,” Aveline replied, matter-of-factly.  “Not that I blame you; Meredith’s pushing the mages is making things go too far, as far as I’m concerned.  But my job is to protect the people of Kirkwall, and I’m having trouble doing that now because of Meredith’s interference.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Hawke asked, crossing her legs.  “I realize I’m stuck at home a lot now, but I can leave Bethy with Orana if needed and go out and do whatever needs doing.”

“Maybe, Hawke,” Aveline said.  “Just you being out and the face of the Champion helps a lot, but it also stirs up trouble.  I’m not sure which is the best option, actually.  But maybe if you were to get out and be seen a little bit more?”

“I’ve been holed up in here too much, haven’t I?” Hawke asked, and Aveline nodded her head.

“I can’t blame you.  You’ve got a child now, and a family.  You’ve got other things to think of, besides keeping the city on the straight and narrow.  But you’re still the Champion.”

“Then I’ll get out there and see what I can do,” Hawke said, matter settled.  “Perhaps I can do some good.  Although unless Meredith and Orsino stop nearly coming to blows about matters, even me getting out and putting a good face to mages isn’t going to help much.”

“Thanks Hawke.  I knew I could count on you,” Aveline said, and stood up.  “I’ve got to get back now.  As much as I appreciate the peace and quiet, I can’t be gone too long or those templars start to think they can take over.”

“’Be gone too long’?  Aveline, you’ve only been gone a few hours!”

“And the paperwork has probably piled up even so.  I’ll see myself out, Hawke.  Until tomorrow,” Aveline said, and made her way out of the library.  Hawke sighed.  Well, she had just signed herself up for… who knows what.  Probably a lot of fighting.  Fenris was going to love that.

“Mama sad now,” Bethy said, and Hawke blinked several times, realizing that she had been staring off into space and thinking hard, completely neglecting her child.

“No, mama isn’t sad, pumpkin,” Hawke told her, lifting Bethy up onto her lap.  “There’s just a lot of things going on and it’s rather difficult to explain to someone who isn’t two years old yet.”

“Read me a book,” Bethy said, and Hawke was taken aback at how clear her words were getting.  She felt that momentary sadness, that quick ache for her baby, and then shoved the feelings away, hard.  She would appreciate what she had now and not miss the day when all Bethy could do was lie there and… be an infant.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, my Bethy.  Why don’t you go pick one of the books out and I’ll read it to you?”  Bethy crawled off Hawke’s lap and went to the bookcase, quickly pulling out one of the larger fairy tale tomes and bringing it to her mother.

Hawke passed the next hour reading with Bethy, purposely avoiding thinking about what she was going to have to do, namely, have a conversation with Fenris about her getting back out there and showing Kirkwall who their Champion was.  Fenris hadn’t said anything, but she could tell he was pleased with her mostly staying at home these past months and not getting out and doing anything that would put herself in jeopardy.  That was going to have to change, apparently, and if anyone could do it, it would be Hawke.

When Fenris came home, bloody and tired from hunting down another group of slavers, Hawke wasted no time in telling him that she would be going out with him from now on, per Aveline’s request.  Fenris was not best pleased to hear that, and tried to argue with Hawke on the matter, insisting that she needed to stay at home and see to Bethy.  But Hawke won out in the end; it was necessary, she said, that the Champion be seen out doing good, especially since the Champion was a mage.  It would help ease the tensions, she hoped, and help the citizens fear mages a little bit less.

Fenris certainly didn’t care much for that part of the argument, but once he saw that Hawke could not be budged, acquiesced with poor grace on the matter.

“ _Vishante kaffas,_ Hawke, you will do as you will, as always.  I will remain at your side, regardless.”

“I know you will.  That’s one reason I’m not worried about anything bad happening,” Hawke said, taking Fenris’s hand in both of hers.  He started to jerk away and then sighed and twined his fingers through hers, and then Hawke knew she had won that argument.  “Everything will be fine, Fenris.”

“I believe you, Hawke.  I trust in you.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished writing the entire thing last night :D I wrote the words "The End" and everything.


	37. A Murder of Crows and Satinalia Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke tries getting back into the swing of things, which means answering her mail herself. Later, she and Fenris prepare for a Satinalia party.
> 
> This chapter is rated "E" for "Explicit." It has adult situations. Viewer discretion is advised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy! You have been warned :-)

“What have you got there?” Fenris asked.  Hawke had been standing there, at her desk, going through her correspondence, but hadn’t moved in several moments.  Instead, she had been staring in uneased shock at the missive currently in her hands.

“It’s a note.  From the Knight-Commander.  She wishes my presence at my earliest convenience,” Hawke said, finally, and Fenris cursed softly.  “Well, we knew that things like this were going to happen,” she said.

“Your earliest convenience will not be for several days, I suspect,” Fenris said, musingly.  He read over the note that Hawke had received, slowly, and shook his head.  “I can see no subterfuge here.  We will have to find out what the Knight-Commander wants when we find out about it.”

“I certainly won’t be meeting with her until _after_ Satinalia,” Hawke replied. 

“Ah, yes,” Fenris said, nodding his head knowingly.  “It’s a good excuse to put her off.  You’ve got too much planning to do for your party.”

“ _Our_ party,” Hawke said, automatically.  It had become second nature for them, over the last couple of weeks, for Fenris to refer to it as Hawke’s party, and for Hawke to refer to it as _their_ party.  “Besides, I’ve been too busy out helping Aveline lately.  Who _knows_ when I’ll be able to get around to seeing the Knight-Commander.”

“Hawke,” Fenris said, flatly.  “You cannot put her off forever.  I would suggest waiting a few days after your party, but no longer.”  Hawke made a face at him, which he pretended not to notice, but nodded her agreement to his suggestion anyway.

“Fine,” she sighed, putting the note down on her desk.  “Two days after.  No more.”

“Two days,” Fenris agreed.  “And you will have me there with you, in case things turn out for the worst.”

“You always think things are going to turn out badly when I have to deal with the templars,” Hawke said, faux-sourly.

“You are a known apostate, Hawke.  I… have concerns about their… fidelity… when it comes to you.”

“Look at you, worrying.  Well, don’t.  Everything will be fine.  The Knight-Commander can hardly arrest the Champion without the city rioting, after all.  But this note is too polite to be anything but a request for something.”

“I would put little past Meredith, right now.  But perhaps you are correct, and I am being paranoid,” Fenris said.

The rest of the correspondence on her desk was the usual: nobles asking for help, the common folk asking for help, letters thanking her for her help.  It was just the one note from the Knight-Commander that stood out. 

She wasn’t sure if she truly believed, as she had told Fenris, that the Knight-Commander would hesitate to arrest her for being an apostate.  Hawke was sure that if she stepped far out of line, Meredith would not hesitate to take her in to the Gallows, and Hawke would fare poorly there, probably being made Tranquil as soon as she was brought in.  But she could not possibly share those fears with Fenris, who was, as he admitted, already paranoid about any potential meetings with templars.  She had to stay positive for him, and for Bethy.

For Bethy was, of course, always her primary concern.  As much as Hawke loved Fenris, and truly cared for him and wanted him to be happy, Bethy came first, and Fenris knew it.  He agreed that it was how things should be, and Hawke knew that Bethy came first with him, as well, now.  Hawke approved, greatly, and this was one subject that the two of them would always see eye-to-eye on.

Hawke glanced over to where Fenris was sitting with Bethy, listening to her sing the body part song that Merrill had taught her and nodding along.  It was a sight only she got to see, really, although all of their friends had caught him playing the father role more than once, to the point where he had lost any sort of embarrassment over his more tender episodes.  Still, for the most part, it was hers to see, and Bethy’s to experience.

She smiled to herself, thinking of how protective Fenris had grown over the two of them.  Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he had been treating Hawke as his partner for a while now, and Hawke, whether _she_ wanted to admit it or not, was treating him the same way.  His protectiveness was more than just duty; it was obvious that he _wanted_ to be there for the two of them, to take care of them and protect them both from any potential harm.  That Fenris had chosen to bind himself to a mage again was nothing short of astounding; should Bethy be a mage, as well, meant he had bound himself twice over.  And he did it happily, and fully of his own choice. 

Perhaps that was what the difference was, she mused.  Fenris had made this choice, fully aware of the consequences, and he had stuck with her.  That he wanted to make their relationship a legally binding one just went one further and proved that he was content with his choice and did not view her as any sort of mistress or owner, despite what some of the nastier Hightown residents said about him. 

Hawke was pleased to see that Fenris was returning her smile, all the while playing with Bethany.  He was a good father, she thought, always very conscientious to praise Bethy and encourage her in her learning, always ready to step in and help Hawke however she needed it.

_Enough with the letters_ , she thought, crossing over to where the two of them were sitting.  _Time to play_.

* * *

“Hmm,” Hawke said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

“Hmmm?” Fenris asked, glancing around the square.  It was cold enough that surely the first snowfall was going to be on them soon, but the air felt dry, and Hawke’s hair was wanting to stick out in all directions.

“I suppose we should go after the assassin,” she said, and Fenris looked at her as if she made no sense.  “Really?  Were you not paying any attention to what I was saying whatsoever?”

“I was keeping lookout,” he said, somewhat defensively, and Hawke laughed and caught him up on the job: an assassin, wanted by some Antivans, hiding out with the Dalish.

“I don’t relish the idea of trekking up to Sundermount at the end of Harvestmere, but at least it’s not snowed yet.  I suppose a job’s a job, yes?”

“Antivans,” Isabela scoffed.  “You can’t believe half of what they say most of the time.”

“And you’re the picture of honesty?” Fenris said, scathingly.

“Low blow there, Broody,” Isabela replied, rolling her eyes and cleaning her nails with her dagger in a grand show of nonchalance.

“If we could get back on topic,” Hawke said, weakly.  “I suppose this means a trip up to Sundermount is called for.”

“This close to Satinalia?” Fenris asked, disbelieving.  Hawke shrugged.

“Well, I’m going to be busy, after, with Meredith,” she said.

“You certainly wasted no time in filling your dance card, once you decided to get back in the swing of things, sweet thing,” Isabela said.  “But maybe not everything has to be done at once?”

“I think this will be fun.  We’ve not gone up to Sundermount for quite some time, and I’ve missed being spat on by the Dalish,” Hawke replied.  Fenris shrugged and Isabela flipped her dagger, trying not to look bored.  “Well?  Let’s get this trip planned!”

The hardest part of planning the trip was leaving Bethy behind.  Hawke found that she was happy to get away from the party plans, but not so happy at the idea of leaving Bethany for three or four days.  And that was three or four days if she managed to get to this assassin with the smallest amount of trouble; any more than that, and she risked missing her own Satinalia party, and this year she had hoped to take Bethany to one of the parades they held at night.  Hawke realized it was a risk, but it was a calculated one, and it felt… right… to be doing something, not just sitting around at home playing the housewife again.  _Best not to let Fenris know that_ , she thought to herself.  Best keep the idea completely to herself.

Because it was a trip to visit the Dalish, Hawke brought Merrill along, as well as Isabela and Varric.  Anders was too unreliable to trust to any jobs, anymore, and Aveline and Sebastian were busy, as usual, with their respective jobs (although she was starting to get the impression that Sebastian wouldn’t mind being asked along a bit more; he seemed almost bored with his Chantry duties, light though they were) and that left her pretty short on choices.  But after all, this was just one assassin, and if she couldn’t take down one assassin, what good _was_ she?

They made good time up the mountain, arriving at the Dalish camp towards nightfall the day after she received the job.  The Keeper, Marethari, seemed pleased enough to see Hawke and company, even if the rest of the Dalish never did particularly care for them, and allowed them to camp somewhat close to the main Dalish campsite, showing where the fresh water was and offering their fire for supper.

Although Hawke did not make use of the fire, and did not particularly need the fresh water, what with her ability to conjure water as needed, at any temperature, it was still nice to have it offered.  Merrill hung back during all the discussion with the Keeper, not saying more than two words, as was her norm in that situation.  Hawke knew that Marethari hoped Merrill would change her mind about the Eluvian mirror she was working to restore, and her blood magic, and that was one reason the Keeper was always so polite and welcoming to Hawke and her friends.

Shortly after getting their camp set up, but before it became truly too dark to go between the two camps, Hawke wandered into the Dalish and started looking for a young lady by the name of Variel, whom the leader of the Antivans, Nuncio, told Hawke might know where the assassin was hiding.

Indeed, she did; she seemed disdainful of anyone actually searching for the assassin, which was odd, to Hawke.  She was surprised to find out that the assassin had left orders with the Dalish to let anyone hunting him know exactly where he was.  Varric, who had come along with Hawke to seek out Variel and find out more about this assassin, was as confused as Hawke was about that, and they both wandered back into their camp enlightened only about where the assassin was.

Despite being so close to the Dalish camp, and in a relatively safe area, Hawke still insisted that they take watches, and volunteered to take the second watch, as was her wont.  Fenris volunteered to take it with her, but Isabela and Varric quickly shot that down, laughing the while.

“The only thing you’d be watching is Hawke, Broody,” Varric said.

“I guess that’s fine if you want us to all get killed,” Isabela added.  Fenris relented ungracefully, grumbling to himself about being perfectly trustworthy to watch around Hawke.  Hawke, for her part, giggled to herself over the entire thing, because it was partly true; she knew the others would never let Fenris live down the time he was supposed to be on watch with her and they wound up waking everyone up having unfortunately loud sex.  Why Fenris got the blame for that and Hawke herself didn’t, she would never know, but there it was.

They were up early the next day, despite Isabela’s and Varric’s protests over the early hour, and soon they were making their way into the cave that the assassin was hiding out in.  There were the usual obstacles to face: giant spiders, which seemed to infest every part of Kirkwall.  Hawke _hated_ the giant spiders, which were larger than she was and stank horribly when they were killed, especially if they were burned, which was the best method for getting rid of the damnable things.  The cave was also festooned with traps, and good ones, according to Isabela and Varric, making Hawke doubly glad she had brought both of the rogues. 

Everything was going mostly smoothly until they ran into the varterral, the elven… monster…. That protected elven interests.  Hawke was disturbed because they had already killed the thing once before, but killing it a second time proved no more difficult than the first was, especially not with Hawke’s elemental magic boosted up, thanks to the ring that Fenris gave her. 

“Now you, I wasn’t expecting,” said an accented voice, and Hawke looked up and over to see the man it was attached to.  He was quite an attractive elf, with facial tattoos and blonde hair, but he looked too friendly to be an assassin.  Although, she supposed, an assassin probably wouldn’t exactly exude an atmosphere of doom.  If he did, it would make it more difficult to get closer to his targets.

“I thought I smelled Antivan leather,” Isabela said, happily.

The assassin laughed.  “Isabela!  If it isn’t my favorite pirate wench!” 

“Shouldn’t you be dead by now?” laughed Isabela.

“I could say the same, my dear.  It seems we were both fortunate to find powerful friends, no?”  The assassin smiled and turned to Hawke.  “How do you do?  My name is Zevran Arainai, adventurer and… occasional assassin.  I must admit, I was waiting for an assault by the Crows, not by the mighty Champion of Kirkwall!”

“How do you know I’m the Champion?” Hawke asked, feeling as though the entire conversation was going over her head.  Nearby, Isabela lounged with a smirk on her lips.  Fenris stood directly beside Hawke, his lyrium markings flaring to brightness every now and then and showing that he, at least, was not at ease.  Varric and Merrill hung out behind them, both seemingly content to listen for now.  It seemed as though her capturing this deadly assassin wasn’t going exactly according to plan.

“Slayer of Qunari, Deep Roads explorer and a beauty to make the gods weep?”  The assassin chuckled then and rubbed his chin.  Beautiful, was she?  Hawke rolled her eyes.  “You underestimate your fame!”

“What’s this about crows?” Hawke asked.  “I’m going to assume you’re not talking about birds.”

“Oh, please, do not tell me you know nothing of the Antivan Crows!”  Isabela laughed at how distraught the assassin, Zevran, seemed to be.  “We are the finest guild of assassins, an object of fear throughout the land for any man with… wealthy… enemies.  Or,” Zevran continued, “I should say, _they_ are.  I am no longer a Crow, a fact which the guild finds unacceptable.”

“There has to be more to it than you leaving the guild,” Hawke protested, and Zevran grinned.

“That is offense enough to the Crows, believe me.  But, I may have also killed the last four assassins they sent after me.  And all their men.  And!  Oh!  And the Guildmaster,” he replied, chuckling at that last bit.  Oh.  No wonder he was so sought after, if he had killed the Guildmaster of the Crows.  Hawke knew more about them than this Zevran seemed to realize, although not nearly as much as he could probably tell her, and she knew that killing the Guildmaster was probably a serious offense to the rest of the guild.  “In fact, if you were a Crow, you could make a fortune bringing me in.  You should consider a career change!”  He laughed again.  “No, really!”

“How do you two know each other?” she said, gesturing to Isabela, and the pirate chuckled.

“How does anyone know Isabela?” Zevran asked.

“Yes, well, keep that up and you’ll never know me again,” Isabela replied, saucily.

“From what the other Antivan said, I thought you’d be taller,” Hawke told Zevran, and indeed, she thought he would be much more fearsome than he seemed to be.

“Ah, let me guess.  A man named Nuncio has asked you to capture a… _dangerous killer_ , yes?  What did he say this time?  I killed his wife?  Butchered his parents?  Sold his children into slavery? Or, did he tell you he was a lawman from Antiva, charged with capturing a ridiculously handsome fugitive?”

“He didn’t say _how_ handsome,” Hawke replied, with a grin, and she could feel, more than see, Fenris stiffen beside her in indignation.  She forced back a laugh; it wouldn’t hurt him to be a _little_ bit jealous.

“Ah, so you’ve noticed.  I credit my high cheekbones and pouty lips,” Zevran said, with a wink, and Isabela laughed again.  “Bring me to Nuncio if you wish, but I warn you, he surely intends to kill you.  The Crows do not like loose ends, unlike myself. But _you_ are clearly a woman who can handle herself, yes?  Why worry? So you can either tie me up, gag me, and then mandhandle me, or take me to Nuncio.  Which will it be, I wonder?”

“Do we have to do it in that order?” Hawke asked, playfully, and earned a laugh from Isabela and Varric both this time and an indignant cough from Fenris.  “You know him best,” she said, to Isabela.  “What do you think?”

“I’ve had better,” Isabela replied, and when everyone just stared at her, Zevran not the least, she shrugged and said, “What?  I’m being honest.”

“I meant about our list of options,” Hawke said.  “Should we let him go?  Or take him to the Crows?”

“Oh.  I’d let him go,” she said, and flipped out her dagger to start trimming her nails with it, seemingly bored with the conversation since it didn’t revolve around sex. 

“I guess we’re letting you go, then,” Hawke said, and the assassin simply nodded.

“I knew you couldn’t resist my obvious charms.  It’s the accent, isn’t it?”

“I’m not going to hand you over to someone who lied to me,” Hawke said, simply.  It was the truth; she was irritated about being lied to.  Although the job had ended amusingly enough, so perhaps she wasn’t as irritated as she might have been.

“As a suggestion,” Zevran said, tapping his lips with his finger.  “You might want to… deal… with Nuncio, sooner rather than later, or else he will come after _you_ sooner, rather than later.  It’s been more than a pleasure, my dear Champion,” he said, bowing.  “Fare you well.”  And then the assassin was headed out of the caves, back where Hawke had come from.

“Well, that was bracing,” Hawke said, turning to the others.  She didn’t fail to notice the disgruntled look on Fenris’s face.  “What?  Do you think we should have taken him in?”

“No,” Fenris said, shortly, and Hawke merely shook her head.  He wasn’t that upset over a little bit of flirting, now was he?  It was completely innocent!

“What do you all say to going and finding this Nuncio?  His camp isn’t far from here.  I think we need to have a little talk about honesty.”

It _was_ a relatively short distance to the camp –only a few hours, at the most—and Hawke was irritated when they finally arrived.  Fenris wasn’t talking to her at all, making only short grunts or monosyllabic words when she asked him a question.  She was going to have to talk with him about this, but certainly not while they were in the middle of a job. 

It was early afternoon by the time they finally arrived, and Hawke wasted no time in going up to Nuncio.  With her hands on her hips, she said, “You didn’t tell me that the assassin you wanted me to capture was one of your own.  I let him go.  Ooops.  Was I not supposed to do that?”

“You let him go?!” Nuncio said, eyes widening in rage.  “It doesn’t really matter.  This time his Warden isn’t here to protect him.  But you… nobody fails the Crows and lives.”

“Ahhh… poor, stupid Nuncio,” Zevran said, from behind them.  Hawke half-turned, catching him out of the corner of her eye as she brought her mana forth and held it.  She noticed the rest of her crew readying themselves for an attack, and noticed the Crows starting to do the same.  So it would come to a fight, after all.  “The Crowd do like that saying, but I am living proof it is a lie.”  He chuckled and glanced towards Hawke.  “Why they insist on thinking they can kill people like you and the Warden, I’ll never know.”

“I tell you, it’s a burden I bear on a daily basis,” Hawke said, voice dripping with irritation at the Crows.

“You are nothing but a traitor and a coward, Zevran.  You’ll die here!” Nuncio declared, pointing at the elven assassin.  One of the Crows rushed Zevran from behind and, without looking, Zevran turned and flung one of his throwing knives at the man.

It hit him directly in the eye and the man fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, dead.

“Yes, well,” Zevran said, softly, turning back to Nuncio with a wicked smile.  “Let’s see how that works out for you?”

And then the fight was on.

It was a difficult battle.  The Crows were well-trained in fighting, and Hawke knew that if she didn’t get a handle on them quickly, they would overwhelm her and her crew.  For one, there were more Crows there than there were of her, and while she felt prepared to take on a lone, dangerous assassin with even just herself, there were nearly two dozen Crows for the six of them to take on, and Hawke did _not_ like those odds.

She focused mainly on her big spells, the ones that covered large areas, such as her firestorm and her force magic, and was glad to see Merrill doing the same thing.  As mages, it was better for them to do damage to as many targets as possible at the same time.  It was also easier and better for her to use her elemental magic out there, and she pulled on her primal knowledge as well, bringing lightning storms down.  The only problem with lightning was that they had to dodge it as well; she dissipated the storm quickly, once she realized it was doing more harm than good, and focused on casting chain lightning spells on the Crows.

The fight waged on for quite a while, but eventually all the Crows were dead, some of them crispy, fried things baking in the cool and some of them slaughtered by knife or sword.  None of them escaped being splattered with blood, though, not even the two mages, and Hawke knew she would be grateful for that freshwater stream the Dalish had, to clean up some.  She was doubly glad for bringing an extra set of robes, as well; these were covered in blood, and filth, from where Merrill blew up several of the Crows. 

“I’m filthy,” she moaned, trying to get the worst of the insides off of herself as Merrill and Isabela saw to looting the camp with Zevran.  These Crows weren’t very smart; they kept a number of pricey items on them in the camp, and Hawke knew that her magpie friends would find good buyers for the weapons and small, enchanted objects they happened to find.  The gold, too, was a good find, and she made sure it got distributed evenly (because Isabela would be sure to keep too much for herself, of course.)

It was closer to evening than noontime when they were finally done looting the campsite.  Hawke stretched and took a look at the sun’s position, then sighed.  It would be dark by the time they reached their Dalish camp, and that meant they wouldn’t have much time for hunting.  Perhaps the Dalish would be so kind as to share their food?  Unless Varric managed to bring something down on the way between the two sites; all they had looted in the way of foodstuffs from the Crow site was bottles of Antivan brandy.  Fun, but hardly filling.

“Excellent,” Zevran said, sounding very self-satisfied.  “Killing my former brothers-in-arms is oddly satisfying.”

“I’m glad you found it so,” Hawke said, irritated all over about how messy her robes were.  The assassin just chuckled.

“I’ve little to offer you in the way of reward, Champion,” Zevran said, displaying empty hands.  “Perhaps you will allow me to accompany you back to the Dalish?”

“Awww, does, Zevvie need a place to stay for the night?” Isabela asked, mockingly, and Zevran simply smiled and shook his head.

“Considerate of others as always, my dear Isabela,” he said.  “I thought simply that there would be safety in numbers.  The Champion is a formidable opponent.  I would not want to be the one assigned to her contract.”

“Do you think I’ve got a contract on me?” she asked, suddenly intrigued.

“I doubt it,” Zevran answered, honestly.  “You killed the Arishok in single combat.  Not many people will want to take that on, although some will see it as a challenge.”

“If anyone’s got a contract on you, it’d be Seneschal Bran,” Varric said, and Hawke had to laugh at the image of Bran going under cover of night to take out a contract with the Crows in an effort to put an end to his most hated enemy, the Champion of Kirkwall.

“I don’t think Bran likes Hawke very much,” Merrill added.  “He’s always so rude to her.  It’s just like when I go to the gardens and the guards are rude to me.  It’s like Bran is the guard of the Viscount’s office and he’s got to be rude to her to keep her out.”

“Very astute, Daisy,” Varric said, patting her on the shoulder.  “Now, let’s get back to the Dalish camp.  I’m not the only one wanting to wash this blood off me.  Maker’s breath, Daisy, you’ve got to watch where you detonate people.”

“They just kind of blow up where they blow up, Varric,” Merrill said, and the two bickered about it on the way back to the Dalish camp.  Hawke followed behind, trying to walk with Fenris and catch his attention.  It wasn’t the best time to talk with him, but it was better than him thinking that her innocent flirting was anything but.  However, Fenris seemed disinclined to talk, and so Hawke simply sighed and followed the others, grateful for the idea of getting back.

The assassin, Zevran, talked the whole way there.  It seemed he and Isabela were indeed “close friends,” or had been, and he was the very Zevran who traveled with the Warden during the Blight, so Varric had a veritable field day with asking him question after question regarding the travels.  There had been several books published, already, about the Wardens and their travels, including by Brother Genitivi himself, but Zevran was actually _there_  and had actually experienced it, and, it seemed, he was happy to talk.

Fenris continued to have that seemingly-injured air to him the entire evening, refusing to meet Hawke’s eyes and she sighed to herself, thinking they were going to wind up having a _long_ talk, and not a fun one, either.  Once they had arrived back at their Dalish campsite it was coming on dark, quickly, and Merrill accompanied Zevran to the actual Dalish camp to see if they had any food they would be willing to spare in exchange for some of the gold they had looted today.  Hawke kept trying to catch Fenris’s attention, even going so far as to take his hand and tell him they needed to talk, but Fenris brushed her off each time, coming up with different excuses for things he needed to do, until Hawke shrugged and decided if he wanted to play it that way, that’s how they would play it.

After the two elves returned with food, and said food was cooked properly, they all sat around the campfire, passing around some of the looted Antivan brandy.  Although Hawke had decided to stop flirting with the assassin, he had, apparently, not decided the same thing, and once they were all well into their cups, Zevran leaned over to Hawke and smiled what was probably a rather enchanting and winning smile, most of the time, at her.

“So, my dear Champion,” he said, leaning on one elbow.  “Would you wish to… get to know each other better?”

“That depends,” Fenris intoned, sounding entirely sober.  “How much do you wish to test that luck of yours?”  His markings flashed in the firelight, and Zevran straightened up and directed that slow smile at him, instead.

“Oh, I see.  Fair enough, then.”

“How about we go get to know each other better, Zevvie?” Isabela asked, and then blinked.  “Wait.  What about your Warden?”

“We’ve got a bit of an understanding going on,” Zevran replied, shaking his head.  “But I certainly wouldn’t mind getting reacquainted with you, my dear Isabela,” he said, standing up and passing the bottle over to Hawke, who was insanely grateful that she didn’t have to intervene in the conversation and keep Fenris from killing the former Crow.

Isabela stood up, too, and, arm in arm, she and Zevran retired to her tent.  She would have third watch tonight, anyway.  Hawke just hoped they kept it down.

She glanced over to Fenris and saw him staring pensively at the fire.  Hawke offered him the bottle of Antivan brandy and he took it without looking at her and swallowed several times.

“Fenris,” she said, too softly for the others to hear it.  His ears twitched, so she knew he could hear her.  “Fenris, _I am yours_.”  His stance relaxed some, then, and he took another long swallow of the brandy before passing it along to Merrill, on his other side.  “Okay?”

“Okay,” came the gruff reply, and Hawke linked her arm with his.  At first he was stiff, and seemed to want to pull away, but then he quickly melted against her, resting his head on her shoulder.  Hawke stroked her hand down his back and kissed the tip of his ear, which made him shudder.

“I am yours,” she repeated.  “You know that, right?”

“I know that,” he replied, voice still soft.

“Want to retire to our tent?” she asked, teasingly, and he turned his head and gave her a flat look that made her laugh.  “It’ll be more fun in there than out here listening to Isabela and Zevran.”

“You’re on,” he said, and thus they retired to their tent in peace, after wishing the others a good night.

* * *

“Do I look okay?” Hawke asked, twirling in a circle around so that Fenris could inspect her.  He stepped up behind her and slid his hands up her back, over the velvet of her gown.

“You look… stunning,” Fenris said, lifting up her hair and kissing her on the back of the neck.  Hawke shivered slightly and waved him away, laughing.

“I look like I look, is how I look,” she deflected, but he shook his head. 

“You will be the most beautiful woman down there, as always,” he said, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her back against him.

They were preparing for Hawke’s Satinalia party, the two of them getting dressed in Hawke’s room.  Fenris had deigned to wear a suit, which Hawke, personally, thought he looked quite handsome in, and he was even wearing shoes, although she was sure he wasn’t comfortable in them.  The cold, dry weather of their trip up to Sundermount to see to the assassin, and subsequent homecoming thereafter, had given way, swiftly and brutally, to a surprise of snow, the first of the season.  Hawke had, therefore, canceled any idea of taking Bethy out to the parade that evening, although she certainly wasn’t canceling or postponing her party.  Snow on Satinalia was supposed to be good luck, anyway, and the two moons outside were shining on the freshly-fallen snow and looked quite romantic, really.

Hawke’s gown this year was designed to match Bethy’s, the same as last year, but both were in a flattering blue velvet design with silver trim, and Hawke’s was cut in a much more “grown up” style than little Bethany’s was.  Still, the intent was obvious, and the three of them together looked quite lovely as very much like the family they were.  Hawke decided, then and there, that she had to have a portrait come and made of the three of them.  It was much better to hang a portrait of the living Hawkes up, rather than a dusty one of her grandfather that had been up since before Mother died. 

Carver was early, for a change, although he would have to leave somewhat early, and he was dressed in his best templar regalia.  Hawke shuddered at the familiar sword-and-sun on his breastplate, wishing that Carver had chosen someone, anyone, other than the templars to join up with.  But he had made his choice, and Hawke had to respect that, no matter how much seeing that sword-and-sun activated her flight instincts, made her feel the need to run and keep running, even from her own brother.

He was, at that moment, downstairs with Bethy, seeing to his niece while Hawke and Fenris finished getting ready.  He got to spend so little time with her that he seemed to enjoy whatever chance he could get to sit down and play, and since none of the other guests had arrived yet, it was the perfect opportunity for him to get some “uncle-niece” time.

“Fenris,” Hawke murmured, leaning back and into him, trying to not crush her gown, but Fenris seemed to care little for the dignity of her dress and slid his hands up, cupping her breasts through the thick fabric, and brought his lips down the side of her throat.

“I have better ideas of how we can spend this time,” he said, but Hawke simply laughed and pulled away from him.

“No, you don’t, you devilish man.  We’ll be right in the middle of things and they’ll walk in on us and then how can I live things down?”

“They can try,” he growled, a sensuous sound if she had ever heard one.  “I can lock the door, you know.”

“But what if Carver needs us because of Bethy?” she asked, retreating until her back wound up hitting the wall, Fenris advancing on her.  He got his hands on her hips and traced the curve of them, slid his lips against her jawline.  Hawke moaned slightly and tilted her head back to give him better access to her neck, and he brought one hand up and tangled it in the length of her hair that spilled down her back, holding her in place.

“I daresay the templar can handle a small child for a half hour,” Fenris replied, after a long moment spent kissing along her neck, and she felt her knees buckle and go weak.

“Fenris,” she tried again, realized her voice was cracking on his name.

“Marian,” he said, a near whisper that set her blood afire, and Hawke knew that this round was lost.

“Don’t mess my dress up,” she said, slipping her hands up to grasp his shoulders, and he grinned, a wicked thing that caused her to shiver in anticipation, and down his hands went, grasping at the skirts of her gown and hiking them up above her hips.

Fenris lifted her, grasping her buttocks, and Hawke held onto his shoulders.  “The desk?” she suggested, and he grunted in acknowledgement, carrying her over to the desk and sliding her onto it, pushing back the inkwell and her journal, back against the wall.  He rucked up the skirts higher, until her smalls were exposed, and then Fenris slid them aside and used one finger to slide down the lips of her labia, his own lips seeking the hollow of her throat.  Hawke sighed and tilted her head back, fingers digging into his shoulders through the thick material of his jacket, and she felt him part her folds, his fingers seeking out her entrance. 

His lips were hot on her throat, his teeth nipping at the soft skin there, and she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth to stop herself from stopping him.  He _liked_ leaving marks on her skin, and why stop him from leaving another?  They were grown adults, and their activities shouldn’t—

Her thoughts were interrupted as his thumb circled her clit, pushing down and adding just a little bit of pressure.  She gasped and then moaned, bucking her hips up and forward, against his hand, and he slid first one finger, then a second, up inside of her.  She was already slick, wet with want, and within moments he was sliding his fingers back out of her and unlacing his breeches, tugging them down just enough to pull his already erect cock from them.

He slid his lips up to her ear.  “Are you ready for me?” he asked, his voice low and husky, and she could only nod as he lifted her up just slightly and, taking himself in hand, slid home inside of her.  Hawke bit off a moan as he entered her, but Fenris did not, and his voice was full of need and want.

“Marian,” he moaned, and then captured her mouth with his own, tongue thrusting past her lips to dance against hers.  Hawke brushed her fingers over his neck, holding onto him tightly, and deepened their kiss, tilting her head slightly and pressing herself up against him.  Fenris moaned again and snapped his hips forward, driving himself into her, and Hawke brought her legs up and wrapped them around his waist.

“Hurry,” she whispered, pulling her mouth from his and pressing kisses along the shell of his ear.  “You’d better hurry.”

“You first,” he murmured, twisting her sensitive nub gently, and what felt like electricity arced through her.  Hawke could not suppress a groan of desire and she ground her hips down against his hand.  They would have to hurry this, they would have to be quick, lest they be caught.  Somehow, the idea of being caught added a little to the thrill of it.

He twisted again, a little rougher this time, and then his thumb was pressing down on it and Hawke felt the muscles in her stomach begin to jump in response.  She nipped her way up to the top of his ear, and then suckled on the pointed end.  Fenris drew in a sharp breath and held onto her hip with one hand, pushing himself up and into her, sliding back out quickly only to thrust inside of her sex again.  His lips fluttered against her neck, as if seeking purchase, and he must have found a spot he liked because he was suddenly biting down onto her throat and suckling on it hard while his thumb pressed and circled around her clit.

Hawke arched her back, fingers digging into the flesh of his neck while trying to hold herself in place.  She felt heat pool low in her belly, and then the tension coiled like a spring.  She used the leverage of her legs around his waist to lift herself up against his hand, desperately, and then she was gasping for air, her heart racing in her chest as waves of pleasure overtook her.  She shuddered hard, grasping him, and moaned, a low, throaty sound. 

Fenris had stilled, for a moment, when she reached her pleasure, but after that moment he was thrusting inside of her more roughly now, moving his hand from her sex to her other hip to hold her in place better.  Hawke’s head lolled back and her eyes fluttered closed as his lips sought another spot on her neck, and then it was his turn to shudder, his low moans escaping his lips, her name a husky moan as he spilled inside of her.

They lay there, on her desk, both panting for breath, until Hawke blinked her eyes several times and pulled off of him, just a little away and back.  “Feel better?” she asked, cheekily.

“I think I can manage your little party, now,” he agreed, resting his forehead against her breasts.

“I think you managed to wrinkle my dress,” she teased, pushing him away slightly.  Fenris chuckled and tucked himself back in, did up his laces while Hawke slid off the desk and settled her skirts back around herself properly.  “Do I look okay?”

“Isn’t that the question that got us started down this road to begin with?” he asked, his own voice as teasing as hers.  “Remind me to thank Carver for watching Bethy.”

“He won’t appreciate thanks for this,” she laughed, and Fenris chuckled.

“Perhaps.  But I will thank him, nonetheless.”

“So it’s time for my grand Satinalia party now?” she asked, checking her makeup in her standing mirror.  It was, luckily, not smudged too much, and she did not care to correct the little bit that was.  She would pass, well enough, and anything else could be written off as being the mother of a toddler and the Champion of Kirkwall.

It appeared that some others had arrived while they were… otherwise occupied, for Hawke, once she opened the door, could hear voices and the tuning of instruments.  The musicians must have arrived, then, and just in time. 

“Shall we?” Fenris asked, and offered her his arm.

“We shall,” Hawke replied, taking his arm in hers, and they went downstairs, ready to celebrate Satinalia properly.


	38. Two Blood Mages and an Abomination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and her crew do a job for the Knight-Commander. It doesn't go as she hoped.

“Are you sure about Fenris?” Anders asked, seriously. 

They were down in the sewers of Darktown, a terrible place to be unless you were planning on visiting Xenon’s Emporium, which they were, admittedly, not going to do.  They were searching for something called _sela petrae_ , first, which Anders claimed he needed for a potion that would successfully separate himself from Justice.

_“It’s all gone wrong, Justice and me,” he said, and Hawke nodded in agreement._

_“What, exactly, did you think would happen when you invited a spirit into your body?  You surely were warned against that more in the Circle than I was by my father, Anders,” Hawke chided him, not unkindly._

_“But this potion… I’ll take it and then, boom.  Justice and I can take our rightful place amongst free mages.”_

_“Then I’ll help you any way I can,” Hawke promised.  Anders was her friend, and surely, he knew what he was talking about, even if he was acting a bit dodgy about it.  Perhaps that was Justice’s influence?  Perhaps the spirit did not want to be separated from her friend.  If that was the case, he would be sadly disappointed.  Hawke trusted in Anders’s research._

She shook her head, coming out of her reverie.  Was she sure about Fenris?  Hawke knitted her brows and scowled at Anders.

“Am I sure?  What do you think?  He’s the father of my child and my fiancé,” she told him, sharply.

“He just seems less a man and more like a wild dog, to me,” Anders replied.

“You just haven’t gotten a chance to know him,” Hawke argued, gripping her staff tightly.  They had already had to fight against some nasty things in the sewers, and she wasn’t planning on letting up her grip on her staff until they were back home and she could get a bath and wash the stink of the place out of her hair.

“I think I know him as well as I’m ever going to,” Anders replied, sullenly.

“That’s right, mage,” Fenris said, stepping up beside Hawke, and she didn’t try to suppress the irritated sigh that escaped her lips.  This was just what she needed.  Why she thought to ask Fenris to come along, she would never know, but she had, and there it was.

“Anders, Fenris, back to your respective corners, if you please,” she said, shaking her head.

“I just think—“

“I will not have—“

“ _Both_ of you.  Let’s just find this _sela petrae_ stuff and get out of the sewers.  Unless you like standing around in here?” she finished, somewhat sarcastically, and motioned for Anders to take point.  The other mage opened his mouth, as if to speak again, but Hawke gave him a tough look and he shrank in on himself a little and shook his head, then turned and headed further into the sewers.

_At least it’s not hot_ , she thought, thankful in the extreme that it was wintertime in Kirkwall.  The smell wasn’t nearly so bad, and it was icy enough that certain things had frozen over, making their trekking a little bit easier.  But, she still wanted them to be done and over with this as soon as possible, so she could have time to bathe and change before her meeting with the Knight-Commander.  That, and she didn’t feel like listening to them argue about something that wasn’t going to change.  Anders had to accept that she was with Fenris, and Fenris needed to realize that she wasn’t going to Anders.  Maker, if only he hadn’t heard them that time in Grunding…  She wasn’t even _with_ Fenris, then, but…

With a grunt of irritation, she trailed after Anders, keeping her staff at the ready to cast.  Fenris followed after her, and Isabela trailed behind all of them, cursing the muck in the sewers and complaining, loudly, to anyone who would listen, about how they _owed_ her for this.

Thankfully, finding all the _sela petrae_ that Anders needed didn’t take long, and they only had to kill a few thugs and giant spiders to do it.  _Don’t the giant spiders ever take a holiday?_ she wondered, glad that she was far enough back that the spider, when it finally died, didn’t explode all over her.  It was going to be difficult enough getting the smell out without having to get spider guts out, too.  They tromped out of the sewers and into Darktown proper, where everyone knew, for the most part, to not mess about with Hawke and her gang. 

Hawke dropped Anders off at his clinic, and then let them in through the cellar entrance, promising Isabela that she could use her bathtub if she wished.  They still had several hours before they had to meet Meredith, and Isabela was going to be accompanying her on that, as well as Aveline, who was still in the barracks when they finally made their way into the house proper.

Bethy ran up to Hawke for a hug, and, once lifted into the air, wrinkled her nose.  “Mama smell bad,” Bethy said, and Hawke had to huff a laugh of agreement.

“That’s why I’m getting a bath, little one,” she said, and set Bethy back down.  “Now, you go play with Orana, like a good girl, and let mama bathe.”

If she went a little strong with the scented bath products, Hawke hoped that Meredith didn’t notice, because she realized halfway through that the smell was only going to come out with a second bath.  _Or perhaps I’ve just got the smell in my nose and everything’s going to smell that way the rest of the day_ , she thought, irritated, as she dried off.

Isabela peeked her head around the doorway.  “Are you done yet?  There’s others who are wanting to get baths, you know.”  Hawke rolled her eyes and wrapped the towel around herself, shivering with the cold that the hearths couldn’t quite displace.

“All done now, ‘Bela.  Just let me get some hot water in the tub and you can take your turn,” Hawke said, conjuring up ice and melting it down quickly, to fill the tub.

“Is there anything magic can’t do?  Thanks, sweet thing,” Isabela told her, and then Hawke was off to her room to get dressed.

Fenris was waiting for her in there, scrubbing at his armor with his polish.  “I can’t believe you let the abomination talk us into traipsing through the sewers again,” he grumbled, and Hawke rolled her eyes.

“You’re just mad because he said something.  Again.  Really, stop putting so much stock into what Anders says about you.  Who knows what he says about me.”

“Probably much more complimentary things than about me.  Even so, I have no more desire to go rooting through the sewers for whatever that mage needs.  Next time, I will stay home.”

“And miss out on killing spiders and thugs?  Perish the thought, darling.”  Fenris laughed, softly, and Hawke smiled to herself, that she could bring even a little bit of mirth to him.

“I still dislike this meeting with Meredith,” he said, sobering quickly.  “Too much could go wrong.”

“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” she promised him, wrapping the towel around her hair as she put on clean smalls.  “I’m not sure why she wants to meet with me, but it’s probably something innocuous.”

“Even so,” Fenris said, and then left it at that.  The rest of her dressing went quietly, but a comfortable sort of quiet, the kind where you know you don’t have to say anything just to fill the void of silence.  Fenris polished his armor, Hawke dressed and then sat on the bed and rubbed the toweling in her hair, working on drying it. 

“I wish this were easier to do with magic,” she said, but that was all that was said between them until Isabela exited the bath.

“Hawke, I _love_ your bathtub.  I think I’m going to marry it,” she exclaimed dramatically, wrapping a towel around her hair and carrying her bandana on her arm.  “That’s the best bath I’ve had in ages.  The Rose simply doesn’t compare.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it so much, ‘Bela,” Hawke said, with a laugh.  Fenris just shook his head; anything he said would only start Isabela down a road of innuendo that he dared not follow.  “Fenris, ready?”

“Yes,” he replied, simply, and Isabela chortled and retorted, “That’s what she said!”  Hawke rolled her eyes but grinned; her pirate friend would never grow up.  She got Fenris’s bath ready for him and then settled down to start combing her hair out, irritated with the snags and snarls.  Isabela was doing the same in the chair Fenris had just vacated.

“I feel like I’m going to smell the sewers forever,” she complained.  “Are you certain we need to go see Meredith today?  I can’t have another one of your exquisite baths first?”

“Nope.  I’ve put her off as long as I can,” Hawke said, experimenting with a little bit of force magic to see if she could get some air blowing around her head to dry her hair more quickly.  It worked, but snarled her hair worse than it was before.

“I’m sure you could put her off more if you tried,” Isabela complained.  “We could go back to that hat shop I found in Lowtown instead.  Or just stay in and drink; that would be nice, too.”

“Even I can’t put the Knight-Commander off forever,” Hawke said, “and it’s already been over a week since I got her note.  The last thing I need is a templar knocking at my door and demanding me go see her right then.”

“You _do_ have the weirdest callers,” Isabela agreed, and Hawke sighed at her completely missing the point.  “Well, I said I’d go with you, and I will.  We should just do something fun, afterwards.”

“We could go to The Hanged Man, if you want,” Hawke said, and Isabela scrunched up her nose at the suggestion.  “What?  It’s a perfectly cromulent idea.”

“You do know what that word means, right?”

“I wouldn’t use it if I didn’t,” Hawke argued, sticking out her tongue at Isabela.  The pirate laughed.

“I’ve got better uses for your tongue than that, sweet thing.”  Hawke rolled her eyes and fought down an indulgent smile.  “I don’t know, I just feel… _off_ … about this.  Like something’s going to go wrong.”

“Would you all quit saying that?  Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Hawke replied, throwing her hands up.  “Everything is going to go fine.”

* * *

“I told you everything was going to go fine,” Hawke said, addressing her crew.

“You call that fine?  She threatened you with arrest if you didn’t agree to hunt these apostates down,” Fenris growled, curling his hands into fists. 

“Well, I agreed to do it, anyway, so what’s the difference?” Hawke asked, innocently.  Fenris merely shook his head.

“I’m with Fenris,” Aveline said.  “It’s not your job to hunt down apostates.  The templars should do their job, instead of foisting it off on you.”

“And what do you think, Isabela?” Hawke asked, turning wearily to her friend.  “Do you think this is a bad idea, too?”

Isabela shrugged.  “I can’t see where it’ll turn out badly, so long as you bring the apostates back and don’t let them go.”

And that was the crux of the matter; Hawke was much more likely to let the escaped apostates go than return them to the circle.  She muttered something uncomplimentary about Meredith to herself under her breath and turned away from the three of them, stalking through the Gallows courtyard like an irate cat.  One could nearly see a swishing tail and lowered ears on her.

Meredith wanted Hawke for a job: hunt down and return three escaped mages.  They had destroyed their phylacteries, which meant that the templars couldn’t hunt them down the traditional way ( _Chantry-approved blood magic,_ Hawke thought, sourly) and so Meredith had turned to the Champion, someone who had the trust of the city.  Another mage, she reasoned, would put these missing mages at ease much more than templars.

And so it fell to Hawke, who felt she had little recourse other than to do as Meredith asked.  It was, she reasoned, one of the things she had promised Aveline she would do, after all.  If these mages _were_ blood mages, as Meredith suspected (without reason, but there it was) then it was best to get them brought back to the Circle as soon as possible, to be dealt with.  Not all blood mages were as naïve and innocent as Merrill, and not all of them could be trusted to not abuse their power.  If the mages were innocent, then they would have an advocate in Hawke, who could either help them get out of Kirkwall proper or send them back to the Circle, which was a choice Hawke was hesitant to make.  For that matter, she was hesitant to help them escape, too, but Meredith had given her an awful lot of rope there.  Perhaps it was too much for a proper hanging.

If they were going to search for an escaped mage in Darktown, Hawke knew their first stop would need to be Anders.  He was _the_ mage to go to about escaped mages, and, hopefully, he would be willing to help them find this Evelina.

“Sorry,” Anders said, once Hawke put the question to him.  “Never heard of her.  Are you sure she didn’t flee somewhere else?  Maybe she went to her family.”

“She doesn’t have family here,” Hawke replied.  “Just some children she tried to help.  The templars chased her to Darktown, though, and this is the most likely spot to find her, according to the Knight-Commander.”

Anders looked up at her from where he was sitting at his desk, his brown eyes flashing blue for a moment.  “You are _helping_ the Knight-Commander?” he asked, a trace of Justice in his voice.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” she said, voice low, a confession.  “If I refused to help her, she could have had me arrested right then.  I’m hoping to find these mages before the templars do and give them a running chance, or advocate for them if they go back to the Circle.”  When Anders didn’t look any more believing, she threw her hands up.  “What more could I do, Anders?  What would _you_ have done in my position?  At least I’m trying to help!”

He stared at her for a moment longer, and then finally nodded.  “At least you are trying to help,” he said, eventually, an agreement.  Hawke felt herself relax a little bit, and looked back to where Fenris and Isabela were having a discussion at the front of the clinic.  Good; neither of them had noticed the flicker of Justice, nor the low argument between the two mages.

“Knowing that I’m trying to help, can you give me any more information?” she asked, and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“There are some orphans who live not far from here,” he said.  “They might know where she is, if they’re hers.  If not, it wouldn’t hurt to check.  They come by, sometimes, when one of them is sick, or injured.”  At Hawke’s smile, Anders blushed just slightly.  “I get to know the residents around here pretty well.”

“They’re lucky to have you,” she said, and patted him on a feathered pauldron.  Anders looked sad for a moment and Hawke suppressed a sigh.   She had to do that a lot around Anders, especially lately.  “Can you… will you help us look for her?  The clinic seems pretty empty right now.”  Indeed, there were no patients waiting on Anders to help them.  It was that way a lot more often now, and Hawke hoped it wasn’t because they were afraid of coming to the Healer.  Anders was well known in Kirkwall as being willing to Heal anyone.  If he was losing that protection… 

Anders glanced around, then ran a hand through his hair.  “I suppose so.  After all, if your goal is to help her escape Kirkwall, I’m better suited to that than you are.”  Hawke stuck her tongue out at Anders and the other mage grinned at her and stood up, brushing his coat off and trying to settle some of the feathers on his pauldrons. 

While he grabbed his staff, Hawke went back over to Fenris and Isabela.  The pirate just looked bored, but Fenris looked dour and his single glance towards Anders told her everything.  She had to suppress another sigh.  “Yes, Anders is coming with us.  Who better to deal with escaped mages than an escaped mage, right?”

“I do not have to like it,” was all Fenris said in response, and then he ducked his head down, letting his bangs cover his eyes.  Hawke shared a look with Isabela, who shrugged and did not lose her bored look.

“The more the merrier,” the pirate said, and Hawke silently agreed. 

It turned out that the household of orphans that Anders was referring to was the very one that this Evelina had been ministering to, and they told a sad story of flight from the Blight, and Evelina getting treated like a criminal because she tried to help the children. 

The younger of the two who were willing to talk to them, a boy named Cricket, mentioned that Evelina got angry and killed some templars.  He seemed frightened of her, and Walter, the other boy who was willing to talk, seemed equally frightened.  Hawke had a bad feeling about what was coming up next, and, indeed, her bad feeling was correct; Evelina turned into an abomination right before their eyes, and they were forced to kill her and several shades, once they had located her in the sewers.  Thankfully, not _far_ into the sewers, this time.

The boys were understandably distraught, although gold helped the situation some, and a private mental note to tell Varric about a household of orphans because, of all of them, Varric was most likely to find jobs for the children to do, even if those jobs were just part of his own spy network. 

Anders tried to rant about Evelina’s fate being the templars fault, but Hawke, privately, thought he was wrong.  There were no excuses for turning to demons, and when Evelina saw that it wasn’t templars chasing her, she should have calmed down and stopped being insane.  But that was just par for the course, Hawke thought bitterly.  Mages in Kirkwall were more likely to turn to demons or blood magic first, and ask questions later.

Hawke managed to get Anders to shut up about it relatively quickly, but the damage was already done and she could see Fenris fuming beside her.  At least Fenris was less likely to rant at her, although if she gave him the opportunity he certainly would.

“Anyone up for visiting the de Launcets?” she asked, smiling weakly.

* * *

“The Hanged Man,” Varric repeated, in a fake Orlesian accent.  “It is so filthy!”  Hawke covered her mouth to stop a burst of laughter.

“It is filthy,” Fenris replied, flatly, and she had to bite down her laughter anew.

“I guess we’re headed back there, then,” Hawke said, trying to keep her laughter down.  Dulci had not taken Hawke’s visit well, and, indeed, had nearly fainted when Hawke brought up her son Emile.  Hawke hadn’t been aware that Dulci and Guillaume had any children in the Circle; they hid it very well, probably for the same reason any other noble family hid their mage-blooded children.  It did give Hawke a very small smug sense of superiority, however; at least her family _owned_ their mages. 

“Do you think he’s still there?” Varric asked, as they walked out of the de Launcet estate.  Hawke shrugged.

“Maybe.  If not, I could use a pint, anyway.  And another bath,” she said, wrinkling her nose.  Those damned sewers…

Full dark had fallen, but it did not take Hawke and her crew long before they were walking into The Hanged Man again.  She glanced around and immediately found her man: the worst-dressed person in the tavern.  She winced at his sartorial decisions.

“Circle mages,” Anders muttered under his breath.  They had picked him up at the Hawke estate, Hawke figuring that if things went badly, like they did with Evelina, it would be better to have another Healer on hand, and if things went well, it would be good to have Anders there, although Hawke wasn’t much inclined to just let the mages walk free, after Evelina.  She desperately tried to give mages the benefit of the doubt, but…

Carefully, Hawke approached the table where Emile de Launcet was sitting, face-down in a puddle of ale.  She stared down at him for a moment and he lifted his head and gave her what was probably his best smile, but looked rather pitiful in light of how the rest of him was attired.

“Are you a mage?” Emile asked, drunkenly.  “Because you just magicked my breath away.”  Varric groaned and palmed his face; Fenris bristled; Anders shook his head; Isabela chuckled.

“As a matter of fact, I am a mage,” she said, pointedly. “And you need more practice with women,” she finished, tiredly.

“Can I practice on you?” he said, giggling.  “In private?”  Fenris growled and stepped forward, his markings flaring in the dim tavern light, and Hawke had to set a hand on his arm to hold him back. 

“Can I kill him now?” Varric said, to lighten the tension.  “He’s hurting me.”

“A round of drinks, on me!” Emile said, cheerfully.  “I’m Emile, as you know.  And you are…?”

“Feeling very sorry for you,” Hawke replied, shifting her weight from foot to foot.  “I’m also helping the templars hunt a mage named Emile de Launcet and… well, here you are.” 

“Oh, buggery!” he said, flying out of his seat so quickly he nearly jumped.  “I know what this is about.  I am not a blood mage, all right?  I uh… started that rumor because…”  he fidgeted, not quite looking at Hawke or her companions.  “Because I thought it would make me sound dangerous and… suave.”

“Do you have a death wish?” Anders asked, angrily.  “You grew up in the Circle, you know what the templars do to blood mages!”

“ _This_ is what lack of sex does to a person,” Isabela chimed in, shaking her head.  “I can only watch in horror.”

“I’ve only told people in the tavern,” Emile said, defensively.  “And only women!”  He looked down.  “You don’t understand.  I’ve been in the Circle since I was six.  Six!  For twenty years I was locked up.  Never had a real drink or… or cooked something for myself.  Never stood in the rain, or kissed a girl.”

“The Ferelden Circle was a lot more fun,” Anders said, sounding more like his old self than he had in months.  “Everyone was kissing everybody.  Although that was before the abominations.”

“This is an act,” Fenris growled.  “The mage makes himself out to be harmless…”

“No, he really is that pathetic,” Anders said to him.  “You’ve never lived in the Circle.  You don’t know how it is.”  Fenris spared a dark look for Anders, then glared in Hawke’s direction.

“I just wanted to live a little,” Emile said, desperately.  “If you’re going to kill me, do it.  I’d rather die drunk.”

Hawke turned to Isabela.  “Emile wants to live a little.  Why don’t you give him a hand, Isabela?” 

The pirate sneered and posed, one hand on her hip, seemingly indignant.  “You don’t mean… no.  No.  He’s revolting!”  Hawke had to admit that Emile wasn’t the handsomest man in the world, but she thought “revolting” was a little harsh.  “I do just fine whoring myself out without your help, thanks.”

Hawke turned back to Emile and shook her head.  “Did you really escape the Circle so you could kiss a girl?”

“Well, not _just_ that.  I’ve read so much about the other things you can do with girls.”  Isabela snickered behind them, and Varric chortled.  Even Anders laughed; only Fenris maintained his pose, ready to attack if needed.

“You can’t run,” Hawke said, to Emile.  “The templars will find you, eventually.” 

Emile stepped closer to Hawke and Fenris’s markings glared brightly.  She heard Varric saying something to the elf, hopefully something soothing, but she leaned in to listen to what Emile had to say.  The man dropped his voice and said, “I… I’ll make you a deal, all right?  Give me one night.  Just one night.  One of the tavern girls, Nella, has agreed to lie with me.  I even paid for a room.  Please, let me have this.  You can take me back in chains after.”

“Why don’t you start small, and leave the chains for when you’re more experienced?” Hawke asked, with a sigh.  “I’m probably going to regret this, but…  Just go… do whatever.”  Emile’s face lit up, and he hurried over to where Nella was waiting at the bar, speaking to her rapidly.  Hawke rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands and felt herself droop.  When Meredith asked her to hunt down potentially dangerous apostates, nothing had been brought up about potentially dangerous _virgin_ apostates.

Emile and Nella disappeared upstairs, and Hawke turned to Varric and Isabela.  “I trust the two of you can watch over him from here.”

“I’ve got your back, Hawke,” Varric said, eyeing her pointedly.  It was obvious that she was tired from the long day, and she knew she couldn’t hide how badly she now wanted to get home and get another hot, soaking bath, and eat something filling.  And possibly get her feet rubbed; that would be a nice way to finish up the day.

“So long as I don’t have to sleep with him,” Isabela said, with a sneer.

“Sorry about that, ‘Bela,” Hawke said, and the pirate waved it off, relaxing her stance a little bit.  She would probably owe her a trip to that Lowtown hatshop because of this.  “Anders, are you good to get home by yourself?”  The mage shrugged and nodded the affirmative, and Hawke relaxed some.  “Okay, I’m headed home now.  We’ll meet up tomorrow to see about this elven mage, what’s his name?  Huon?”  Varric voiced his agreement and Hawke nodded.  “Huon.  We’ll comb the alienage and see if we can find him.  Maybe he’ll go as easily as this Emile did.”

“I can’t believe you’re sending him back to the Circle,” Anders grumped, earning him dark looks from both Fenris and Hawke.  “Mages should be free.  I thought you believed in that!”

“Anders,” Hawke said, tiredly.  “The man was in a tavern telling women he was a blood mage so he could have sex with them.  How long would he last somewhere else?”  Anders shrugged and shuffled his feet, not meeting Hawke’s gaze.  “That’s what I thought.  He’d be safest in the Circle.”

“I still don’t like it,” Anders grumbled.

“Well, you don’t have to,” Hawke retorted, sharply.  “Fenris?  You coming home?”  Without glancing towards the elf, she elbowed her way out of The Hanged Man, taking a deep breath of the relatively cleaner air outside of the tavern once she made it.  The air was biting cold, and it was snowing again; perfect.  She wished she had brought a cloak with her, for the extra warmth.  Fenris followed behind her shortly, and they made their way back to Hightown in a relatively uncomfortable silence, more focused on getting there with good footing than on discussing what had happened in the tavern.

Once they were safely back home, Hawke drew Fenris a bath, deciding that it would probably be best for him to relax a little bit.  Fenris just grunted his thanks, which Hawke took to be a better sign than him ignoring her completely.  Meanwhile, she saw to Bethany, who had missed her parents greatly.  She was unused to her being gone during the day, as they had been, and there was a little bit of crying that Hawke had to comfort before Bethy settled down in her arms, comfortably snuggled against her mother.

Dinner was a simple affair, prepared by Orana and eaten in relative quiet in the dining room.  Even Sandal seemed to be feeling the tension, for the dwarven boy was usually a lot louder and more active, rushing through the house with Hero and playing loudly with Bethany, calling out “Enchantment!” and the few other phrases he knew, laughing and just generally causing a cacophony. 

Hawke tried to focus on Bethy, on feeding her properly, and less on whether or not Fenris was angry, and, more, at her.  It was easy enough to lose herself in the repetitiveness of dinner, with having to stop Bethy from playing in her food, in getting her to take bites and not throw them.  Fenris sat to the side and let Hawke handle everything, which was fine with her.

But once Bethy was put to bed, and Hawke had had her second bath of the day (long and hot and relaxing,) there was nothing for it but to speak with Fenris and see what the problem was.  At this time of night, he was usually found in the library, reading peacefully by the fire, but tonight he was already in their room, preparing for bed, when Hawke found him.

“Fenris?  Are you… can we talk?”

“What do you wish to talk about?” he said, turning.  He didn’t _sound_ angry, but the set of his shoulders was that of a tense man.

“Are you angry?  You’ve been acting angry.  I would have thought you’d have agreed with my decision on the de Launcet boy.”

“I do agree with it,” he said, sounding surprised.  He sat down on the edge of the bed and Hawke sat down beside him, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Then why are you acting angry?”

“I haven’t meant to be acting angry,” he said.  “Dealing with the abomination too much… it is difficult for me.  And listening to him go on about mage freedoms, when we saw the demonstrations today of why freedom for mages is a bad idea… It was stressful.  If I took it out on you, I apologize.”

“You didn’t take it out on me, you were just… You know, not all mages act like that.  And the de Launcet boy was a fool, but that was partly because the templars keep them so strictly under lock and key in the Gallows.  They don’t have a chance to have anything resembling a normal life.”

“Mages don’t deserve a normal life.”  Hawke hit him with a flat, glaring look, and Fenris shrugged uncomfortably.  “Most mages don’t,” he amended, which did not please her any more than the first did.  “You’ve seen the abuses, Hawke.  You cannot tell me that turning to demons and blood magic isn’t something most mages wouldn’t do.  You’ve heard me talk of Tevinter.”

“You really want to argue about this?” she asked him, trying to subdue her anger.  “Fine.  We’ll _talk_ about this.  Half the reason that mages turn to demons or blood magic is because they’re afraid.  Partly because they’re afraid of their own powers, because that’s what they’re taught.  They’re not taught to respect their powers, or put into situations where there is an atmosphere of respect instead of fear.”

“Mages in power abuse their abilities.  You cannot argue that fact.”

“Tevinter does it wrong, Fenris, but so do the Circles around here.  You can’t tell me you think it is okay for a templar to rape whomever they like, especially not the Tranquil.”  Fenris shifted, uncomfortable with that reminder of Ser Alrik.  “You don’t want Bethy to go to the Circle any more than I do, if she turns out to be a mage.  That’s part of the reason we went through all that subterfuge, claiming I was adopting her.”

“Even so, you saw what the girl, Evelina, you saw what she did,” Fenris said, and Hawke had to sigh.  She rested her elbows on her knees and her head in the palms of her hands. 

“I don’t know what to do about things like that.  I just think that if the mages here weren’t treated so badly, we’d see fewer mages turn to abuses.  But magic _is_ dangerous, and that’s why mages need protection.  They need protection from the common people, and that’s what the templars are supposed to be there for, not… not stopping twenty six year olds from having sex, so that they feel they have to flee the Circle and find some tavern wench to bed.”

“Perhaps,” Fenris said, slowly.  “Perhaps you are correct, and there is room for improvement.”  Hawke ran her fingers through her hair and sat up, looking at him with large, blue eyes.

“Do you mean that?” she asked, and he nodded, somewhat gruffly.  “You’re not just saying that to put an end to the argument?”

“I’ll admit that I wouldn’t mind seeing an end to the argument.  You and I will never see eye-to-eye on this topic, Hawke, but I want to reiterate that I’m not angry with you.  I really just want to rest.  It has been a long day, too long a day spent with too much time in the damnable sewers.”  She had to chuckle ruefully then; it was true, they _had_ spent too much time in the sewers.

“And tomorrow we have to find this Huon.  Hopefully he’s more like Emile and less like Evelina.”

“That is my hope, as well,” Fenris said, swinging his legs up onto the bed and adjusting the covers.  “Are you ready for bed?” he asked her.

“I’ve got a little bit more to do,” she said, hopping off the bed.  Hawke stretched, and then sighed, which turned into a yawn.  “Although not that much more to do,” she finished.

“I will wait up for you, then,” he said, and she shook her head. 

“No, don’t wait up.  You go on to sleep.  I suspect tomorrow is going to be a long day as well, and you need your rest.”

“As you wish.  Goodnight,” Fenris said, as Hawke walked to the doorway.

“Goodnight, Fenris,” she replied.

* * *

It was two days later that a sober Hawke again paid visit to the Knight-Commander. 

Things had not gone well with Huon.  He had turned out to be an insane blood mage who killed his wife in some sick, and quite mistaken, belief that her blood would bring about some sort of elven glory.  Merrill was with them, and she had known Nyssa, a little, and seeing the abuse of blood magic so blatantly on a fellow elf left the Dalish feeling sick and lost, moreso even than Hawke was.

But Merrill was permitted to go home, and Hawke had to go and face Meredith.  At least she had gotten a good night’s sleep.  _Or an attempt at one_ , she thought, sourly; her sleep had not been restful, exactly, and the few times she managed to doze off, she woke too soon from nightmares of abominations and blood mages and Emile de Launcet laughing.  Each time she woke, Fenris was there for her, but he looked nearly as rough as she felt after such poor sleep.

“Evelina and Huon are dead,” Meredith was saying, and Hawke blinked several times to try to force herself into paying closer attention.  “Unfortunate, but necessary.”

“Evelina was an abomination, and Huon turned to blood magic,” Hawke said.  The Knight-Commander surely already knew that, but if she were going to report in, she would do it properly.

“Mages always make excuses for turning to forbidden magics,” Meredith said, somewhat harshly, and Hawke gritted her back teeth to keep from responding.  “Emile de Launcet turned himself in.  Rather happily, I might add.”

“Emile de Launcet is a fool, but he’s a fool because the templars have given him little choice in things.  He claimed he wanted to just lie with a woman,” Hawke said, and she couldn’t leave the bite out of her words this time.  “Indeed, he spent the entire time at The Hanged Man, where he drank and finally found a woman willing to sleep with him.  All the man wanted was what most men, mages or no, want.”

“Do you suggest leniency for this mage, then?”  Meredith asked, and Hawke shot back with an emphatic “Yes.”  “Very well,” Meredith continued.  “I will go easy on the lad.  But he will be watched, for signs of blood magic.”

“He is no blood mage, Knight-Commander, I assure you.  But as you will.”

“I appreciate the assistance you have rendered, Champion,” Meredith said, the beginning of a clear dismissal, but some madness possessed Hawke and she interrupted.

“Knight-Commander, these incidents could have been prevented by a more liberal treatment of the mages.  The way you’re squeezing them, it’s no wonder they’re wanting to escape and turn to forbidden magics.  If you would only—“

“Champion!” Meredith barked, slamming her gauntleted hands down on her desk.  “Do not misunderstand me, Champion.  You are free only because of the good you do for Kirkwall, and because your brother, a templar himself, watches you.”  He did?  That was news to Hawke; she rarely saw Carver.  Perhaps that was his excuse for being able to get away to her parties.  “Do not press me further, or you will find yourself in the Gallows faster than your elf can crush a man’s heart.  Good _day_ , Champion.”  Hawke worked her mouth, but no sound came out.  More as an attempt to save face than to comply, she simply nodded to Meredith and turned, marching out of the Knight-Commander’s office with the rest of her crew behind her. 

There was no discussion as Hawke led the way out of the Templar Hall, but by the time they reached the ferry to cross over to the docks, Aveline and Fenris were talking to each other softly, and Varric was whistling something relatively quiet.  It must have just been Hawke, then, that felt the tension so strongly.  Or else the others felt it, and ignored it.

Hawke wasn’t certain what she wanted to do.  Did she want to rage, or did she want to simmer quietly?  Those seemed like her two choices, and it seemed like her friends were willing to accept either choice if she would just make it.  This job for Meredith had done little but piss her off and put herself and her friends in danger that the templars should have taken on.  She did not even think that seeing the situations tempered Anders’s rage for mage rights, or proved anything to Merrill about blood magic, either.  She did not even believe that seeing that fool Emile de Launcet in all his innocence did anything for Fenris except prove further that mages could not be trusted.

And where did that leave her?  If mages could not be trusted, how could Fenris trust her?  Could he possibly be right?  The veil was so thin over Kirkwall, it was no wonder that things were bound to go wrong, but even with that, _was he right_ that mages should be locked up and put away for their own good?  Surely he did not want that for Hawke, or for Bethy, should she be mage-blooded, but… what if he was right?

And so, Hawke stewed in her own thoughts the whole way back to her home, biting her nails at times and even tugging on her hair when she could get no good answers from herself.  Varric took off with Aveline, towards the barracks, and Hawke figured he was trying to avoid the Merchant’s Guild again by being seen with the Guard-Captain, for whatever reason.  Fenris, as expected, stayed with her, although he did not try to engage her in conversation, simply kept silent company by her side the rest of the way towards her estate.

Inside, bedlam reigned, as Bethy ran around, completely stark naked, while Orana chased after her, a dress dangling from one hand, a clean nappie dangling from the other.  Sandal stood there and laughed and clapped, egging Bethy on, and Hero was running about as well, sometimes chasing the toddler and sometimes howling, and then lolling his tongue from his mouth in a sort of doggy smile.  Hawke had to put her troubles from her mind as she helped Orana to catch the child, and then dress her properly.  Fenris saw to distracting Sandal and hushing Hero up, which Hawke appreciated, greatly.  She was developing something of a headache.

Eventually, however, Hawke managed to get things calmed down, and Bethy was (quietly) playing with her toys in the library when Hawke curled up in her favorite armchair, tucking her feet underneath her and staring into the fire on the hearth.  Fenris had followed her into the library, but had said little beyond what needed saying; he seemed to be respecting her need for space, or quiet, or, she concluded, whatever it was she was needing at that time.  She couldn’t be sure herself.

Finally, Fenris sighed, quite a put-upon thing, and said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Did she?  Hawke shrugged.  “I don’t know what there is to talk about,” she hedged, as much for her benefit as his own. 

“It has been an unpleasant few days,” Fenris ventured.  “Perhaps I am not the best one to speak of this topic to, but I am here, if you wish.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, and she did; that he was willing to listen to her ranting over mage rights and the stupidity of certain mages, the futility of the entire venture, said a lot about how he felt for her.  She gave him a brittle smile, and he returned it, settling in on the armchair opposite from her.  Bethy brought him up a book, and Hawke continued her thinking.

There was a lot to be thinking on, she knew, and perhaps it was time for her to rethink some of her decisions.  _Without_ talking to Anders.


	39. And Then...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woooo boy. Lots of things happen in this chapter, and Hawke loses a couple of friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of in-game dialogue ahoy!

“I hope the drakestone was worth it, _mage_ ,” Fenris spat, as he cradled Hawke’s head on his lap.  Anders hovered over her, his hands glowing a faint blue with his Healing magic.

“It will be worth it.  Hawke isn’t that badly injured, Fenris, give it a rest.”

“I don’t see any more of the dragonlings,” Isabela said, trotting up to them.  “Although I didn’t look very hard.  We’re getting out of here soon, right?”

“If Hawke is up for it,” Anders agreed, nodding.  She fluttered her eyes open for a moment, locked her gaze on Fenris, smiled and then closed them again.  Fenris scowled down at her, and then up at Anders.

“She might wake up a few more times.  Things are knitting back together.”  Fenris fingered one of the dragon-tooth holes in Hawke’s robes and scowled again.  “Hey, in my defense, I didn’t know we were going to find a high dragon roosting here,” Anders said, furrowing his brows in concentration.  Hawke tried to rouse herself more, to tell them to stop fighting, but she felt unconsciousness calling to her.

When next she woke, it was late afternoon, and her wounds were, surprisingly, mostly gone.  It turned out that being chewed up by a dragon wasn’t nearly as bad as being cut mostly in half by an axe, or an Arishok, apparently.  Or else Anders was getting better at putting Hawke back together from life-threatening injuries; she wasn’t sure she preferred the latter one, to be honest.  She still hurt, but not nearly as much as she had earlier, and that was something to be grateful for.

Hawke went up on one elbow and looked around, spying Isabela tending a fire, but not seeing either Anders or Fenris.  She tried licking her lips and found her mouth to be dry and tasting like dragon dung; she tried coughing, clearing her throat, but that got her nowhere.

“’Bela,” she croaked, and the woman looked up at her, startled.  “Water?”

Isabela scrambled for the packs that were sitting, unattended, behind her, looking through them for a waterskin, and quickly brought it over to Hawke.  Hawke pulled the cork from it and tasted the water; it flooded her mouth, lukewarm and tasting of leather; it tasted wonderful.

“Good to see you up and going,” Isabela said, settling beside Hawke on the ground.  “I thought you were a goner there for sure, for a little while.”

“Oh, you know me; getting crunched by a dragon isn’t going to keep me down.  Where are the boys at?”

“Looking for more dragonlings and more drakestone, apparently; Anders wants to make sure he gets this potion thing right, and said he isn’t willing to risk coming up here again in case he was on a fool’s errand.  He told Fenris to stop hovering over you, but I think Broody is off chasing dragonlings because he needed something to do other than fret.”

“He’s good at fretting,” Hawke said, chuckling dryly, and she finished up the rest of the water in the skin in one go.  Her head hurt too much for her to channel her mana into ice for more water, so she lay back down on the makeshift blanket, grateful for the warmth of the nearby fire.  It was cold out; at least the Bone Pit wasn’t hip deep in snow, like it was so often this time of year.

“I told him fretting would give him wrinkles, and what would he do if his pretty face started wrinkling?  You’d kick him out on his ear, that’s what,” Isabela said, flicking her fingers to demonstrate.  Hawke barked a dry laugh, then coughed.  Isabela went back over to where the packs lay and rifled through them, seeking out another waterskin, and tossed it over to Hawke, who managed to catch it well enough.

“I told Bodahn to expect us home tonight, but it looks too late for us to be setting back,” she said, and Isabela nodded.

“In the condition you’re in, sweet thing, we’re not setting back until daylight.  Although we weren’t exactly equipped to camp out for the night.”

“We’re going to freeze out here,” Hawke said, and she was already shivering.  “Perhaps it would be worth it to walk back in the dark, anyway.”

“Are you up for that kind of walk?  I’d think getting nearly bitten in half by a dragon would give somebody ample right to sleep for the next day, if they wanted to.”

“Better walking and staying a little warm than freezing to death overnight,” Hawke said.  “Did either of them say about when they’d be back?”

“No, but you’ve been asleep for a while.  They both came back about an hour ago, to check on you.”  Hawke moved to sit up and found herself a little dizzy and nauseated, but pushed herself to do it anyway. 

“Then hopefully they’ll be back soon to check on me again.”  She glanced up, checking the position of the sun.  “It’s not dark yet; if we start out soon, we won’t make it back to Kirkwall before dark, but it’ll give us a head start.  You can stay at my place, if you want, ‘Bela.”

“Oooh, a night in a _comfortable_ bed.  How can I turn that down?  I bet Orana is making dinner, too.”  Isabela winked and Hawke and sat back down beside her.  “You know how to treat a woman, Hawke.  Are you sure you don’t want to switch teams?”  Hawke laughed and shook her head.

“Sorry, ‘Bela, I’m taken.”  She grinned ruefully, and Isabela grinned back.

“Damn.  Oh well, I will simply have to find someone who competes with your awesomeness.”

“What about Merrill?  I thought you were sweet on her.”

“Kitten’s nice, but she’s awfully innocent sometimes.  Sometimes you want someone with teeth.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Hawke replied.  They passed the next hour that way, gossiping, with Hawke resting as much as she could.  She knew it would be a long walk back to Kirkwall, but perhaps, if nothing else, they could find one of the farmhouses, or a shack, or some sort of shelter and stay there, overnight.  Anything but being out in the cold and exposed to the elements.

Anders was the first back, and as he was checking up on the patient, Fenris returned, looking slightly singed and worse for wear than he had the last time she saw him.  Despite Anders’s protests, she led the group down from the Bone Pit and away from the cursed place.

It was well past dark when they ran across a small, occupied home.  The older couple who lived there were not best pleased to be sharing their accommodations, until Fenris pulled out his purse and gave them a handful of gold.  Then they were all smiles and happily shared their meager fare with the four, and offered pallets by the fire.  As small as the house was, Hawke wasn’t going to object to not having a bed, although Fenris made a token protest for Hawke’s sake. 

“She is hurt, can you not tell?” he asked, his voice rising in irritation, if not anger.

“Fenris, I’m fine.  I can sleep on the floor.”

“You should not have to,” he snapped, and she shook her head and sighed at him. 

“Fenris…”

“Hawke,” he said, and her name must have not been that widely known this far from Kirkwall, for the couple didn’t react to it.  They did react in fear to the large sword that Fenris wielded, and Hawke scolded him for scaring them. 

“Fenris, I’m fine, really.  Just lie beside me and keep me company.  I’ve slept in worse.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” he said, again, a feeble protest, but that was the end of it. 

They were up again before the sun rose, with the old woman insisting on them having some breakfast before they left, and, just as the sun was coming up over the horizon, they set back out to Kirkwall, Hawke limping along as best she could.

They did not make the greatest time, but it was a lot easier, and safer, for them to be down one person in the daylight than it would have been at night.  It was also nice to not have to have worried about camping somewhere unprepared and getting too cold, as they would have had to have risked the night before if they hadn’t found the old man and his wife and still wished to camp somewhere.  It was well into the afternoon before they managed to get back into Kirkwall proper, and they sent Anders on ahead to Hawke’s estate, to let Bodahn and Orana know that Hawke was well.  Isabela peeled off from them in Lowtown, and Fenris helped Hawke make her slow way up to her estate. 

She winced at each step she had to take –the stairs were numerous and steep, and were hell on abdominal injuries during the best of times—but eventually, they made their way back to her estate, in the late afternoon.  Bodahn rushed to greet them, and Fenris was the one to grab up Bethy and pepper her with kisses while the toddler cried, having missed her parents greatly the night before.  She was, admittedly, unused to going to bed without being tucked in by at least one of them, and when they weren’t going to be available, they usually gave her as much warning as a toddler could accept.

Anders was there to greet them, looking freshly bathed, Hawke noted with envy, including a fresh shave.  He must have been there well before them, then, she thought, and was glad to let him have a look at her and run his Healing magic over her wounds once again.  She had Healed herself as well, alternating with him on the trip back into Kirkwall, but there was just something about someone else using their mana on you that made the Healing more efficient, she had always felt.

“You shouldn’t be hurting too much after this,” Anders said, after examining her.  The teeth marks were irregularly spaced scars across her middle, now, to go along with the long one from her breast to her hip from that insane dwarf back in the Grey Warden prison, and the axe-bites of the Arishok.  She was picking up her fair share of abdominal scars, that was for sure.  She only hoped it wouldn’t negatively affect her ability to have children in the future; she had heard that such injuries would do that, and she did want to have another child with Fenris, if that was possible, in the future.

“I appreciate it, Anders,” Hawke said, shifting around, stretching out the muscles.  It was true; she didn’t hurt as badly as she did on the walk home, even.  In another day or two, she wouldn’t feel a thing.  The scars would remain, however.  She gave Anders a smile, and he blushed and ran his fingers through his hair, looking away.

“There’s one more thing I need your help with,” he said, refusing to look at her and fidgeting instead.

“Well, if it’s going to get you and Justice separated, I’ll help you just about any way I can,” Hawke replied.

“I need you to go into the Chantry and… distract the Grand Cleric.  Talk to her.”

“Talk to her?  About what?”

“I don’t know!  The weather, the cost of cheese.  You can think of something.  I know, talk to her about mage rights; give her one last chance to see reason.”  One last chance?  That sounded ominous, and Hawke furrowed her brow, trying to catch Anders’s eyes with her own.  The other mage was resolute in not looking at Hawke, however.

“Anders, what’s really going on?” she asked, and he shrugged, uncomfortably, and ran his fingers through his loose hair again.

“It’s better if you don’t know everything,” he said.  “But I need you to trust me.  I need to get something from the Chantry and… I just need you to trust me.”

“Okay,” she said, slowly.  She certainly didn’t feel like she trusted him, but she would try to give him the benefit of the doubt.  Perhaps she was just tired, and feeling paranoid in that tiredness.  “But you know you can trust me with anything.  Trust is a two-way street.”

“I know, it’s just…  some things could get you into more trouble than you need to be in,” Anders said, finally.  He stood up and moved away from Hawke, stretching.  “Now if you don’t mind, I need to get to my clinic and check on it.”

“Feel free to come back for dinner,” Hawke told him, and he did look at her then, and offered her a smile.

“I will, although I think I’ll wait until after everyone else has eaten.  It seems… easier… that way,” he said, referring to Fenris.  He wasn’t wrong.  Fenris seemed to take personal offense at the idea of Anders eating with the rest of them.  Hawke was starting to suspect it had something to do with him being considered family; Fenris loathed Anders, and wanted nothing to do with him in that regard.

“Not a bad idea.  I’ll see you later?”

“Yes.  I’ll need a few days before we can go to the Chantry, because I need to get the potion started.  Is that okay?”

“Of course it is, Anders.  Anything to help you out.”

“Thank you, Hawke.  You are a good friend, better than I deserve,” he said, solemnly, and then he was gone.

* * *

Two days later, Hawke found herself back in the Templar Hall, but headed for Orsino’s office, instead of Meredith’s.  She had gotten a note from the First Enchanter, asking for her help in a matter that he couldn’t go into.  She only prayed it wouldn’t turn out like the job she did for Meredith; Hawke wasn’t sure she was up for more insane mages.

Unfortunately, her prayers went unanswered; Orsino wanted Hawke’s help in uncovering… _something_ … going on with the mages.  He suspected blood magic, but really, right then in Kirkwall _everyone_ suspected blood magic when it came to mages.  It was quite frustrating.

“I can’t ask the templars for help without making every mage a target,” Orsino was saying.

“You say they’re using ‘dangerous means’?  Well, what exactly are they doing?”

“All I know is that numerous mages have left the Circle at night, sometimes for days at a time.”  Anders shifted at that, and Hawke wondered at her “wisdom” for bringing him along with this.  She had hoped that speaking with the First Enchanter might temper him some, might let him see that there were people in the Gallows who were fighting for better treatment for mages right alongside him and thus encourage him to calm himself some, but so far all she had gotten out of him was lectures given under his breath about mage rights.  _At least he doesn’t necessarily look the part of a mage_ , she thought, eyeing him as Orsino spoke. 

“And you’ve been thinking blood magic?” Hawke asked, unsurprised.

“The idea has crossed my mind,” Orsino confessed, turning away from her and looking out the window, his hands behind his back. 

“Meredith is a little bit overzealous at the best of times,” Hawke said, doubtfully.  “She can add one and one and get eleven.”

“Sometimes a hundred and eleven,” Orsino replied, with a mirthless chuckle.

“But you do need help with traitors in your ranks,” Hawke said.

“Traitors?  Perhaps.  Rebels, certainly,” Orsino said.  “I don’t know if they seek congress with demons, or merely a walk in the moonlight.  There’s a meeting happening tonight in Hightown, however.  I would just go myself, but if I leave the tower without permission, Meredith would immediately see proof of my involvement, regardless of my motivations.”

“So I’m guessing I’m not supposed to show up, slit my wrists and dance naked in the moonlight?” Hawke asked, trying for some levity.  Orsino laughed and eyed her appreciably, earning a growl from Fenris.

“If that’s what you’re planning, perhaps I should show up after all.”  Behind her, Anders and Isabela both chuckled while she could tell Fenris was tensing up.  Really, she couldn’t take him _anywhere_.

“Well, let’s try to do this without getting the templars involved,” Hawke said, and Orsino nodded.

“Thank you.  You have no idea how much your support has meant to me, Champion.  It has been a life-line for me.  Just go in and learn about the nature of this meeting.  You needn’t interrupt unless you find proof of something sinister.”  Hawke had no intention of interrupting any meetings, but these words gave her a heavy heart; it seemed like she would be put into a bad position, again, as she had been so many other times in the past.  “I pray you do not, for if you do, Meredith will have what she needs to justify the Right of Annulment.”

“Surely things are not that bad?” Hawke asked.

“There are always rumors in a Circle that the Rite of Annulment has been granted,” Anders put in.  “You cannot believe it goes beyond mere rumors, Orsino.”

“With Meredith, it’s better safe than sorry,” Orsino said, sourly.  “I cannot say for certain that she means to do it, but the rumors have been circulating more strongly lately, and I would not put it past her.  Please, Champion… help me unmask this conspiracy, if there is one.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Hawke promised, and with a nod, took her leave of Orsino, the others following in her wake.

“What if these mages are just looking for a way to be free of the Circle?” Anders asked her, dogging her steps.  “What will you do then?”

“I’ll observe, and take my observations back to Orsino,” Hawke replied.  “I’m not getting involved any more than I have to, at this point, Anders.”

“Everyone has to take a side, Hawke, even you.  You should choose the side of mages.  You are a mage, and have helped them in the past!”

“Anders, do you honestly think I’m going to be working against mages?  No, I’m not.  But there’s been enough insanity in Kirkwall these last few years to last a lifetime.  If these mages are just trying to escape, Orsino still needs to know about it, to warn other mages against trying such bold tactics right in front of the Knight-Commander.  Unless you _want_ more Tranquil?”  At the horrified shake of Anders’s head, Hawke nodded.  “I thought so.”

The meeting wasn’t for several hours, until well after nightfall, and so Hawke busied herself back at her estate by answering more mail and playing with Bethy, along with Fenris.  She read, something she hadn’t been able to do a lot of lately, catching up on the most recent acquisition from Isabela (another smutty romance novel, but Hawke devoured those like candies) and basically passed the time as best she could, trying to not worry too much about the way the night would turn out.  Isabela promised to bring Varric and Merrill back in time for dinner, and Aveline had said she would drop by about the same time, so Hawke simply had to wait until he crew showed up.

She was somewhat surprised when Fenris approached her about when they would be leaving.  She had been so caught up in distracting herself that she had actually gotten distracted, and it was true night outside, now.  With a grunt of irritation, she grabbed up her staff and straightened her robes, then asked the others if they were ready.

“Whenever you are, Hawke,” Varric said, gesturing for her to lead the way.  Hawke did lead the way, but only as far as her front door; after that, the two rogues took point, on careful lookout for any traps and any signs that the meeting was occurring nearby.

They eventually did find it, near the de Launcet estate, in a large, open, but usually deserted, square.  The group consisted of both mages and templars, which surprised Hawke and Anders both, but rather than catching them in any covert plans, something gave Hawke and her group away and they were attacked almost immediately.

She was surprised that this many mages were able to sneak outside with setting off some sort of templar alarms, for there were at least a dozen there.  Although with the templars there, she supposed, that was probably how they were able to do it.  Hawke felt badly about cutting the mages down, but she _was_ attacked first.  _At least none of these showed they were using blood magic_ , she thought. 

“I don’t think this is all of them,” Aveline said, sheathing her sword after cleaning it off.  “We should check the bodies; there may be more information on one of them.” 

Indeed, there was; directions to a warehouse on the docks, which made all of them groan in irritation.  “Does no one use the warehouses for just sex anymore?” Isabela asked, cheekily, earning a laugh from Varric and Hawke.

“Clandestine meetings in warehouses.  Why is it always something with you, Hawke?” Fenris asked, although he didn’t sound either bitter or accusatory.

“I told you.  It’s a gift.”  He chuckled darkly.

“I still think you should return it.”

“So I guess we’re headed to this warehouse?” she asked, straightening out the skirts of her robes and patting her hair, which was in a tail, as usual, when she went out on jobs.

“To the warehouses!” Isabela announced. 

The streets were relatively quiet, and there was no one foolish enough to challenge the group, especially considering the Guard-Captain was with them, so they got to the docks in good time, and found the correct warehouse.

Hawke took a deep breath in.  “Everyone ready?” she asked, and when met with affirmatives, nodded.  “Let’s go.” 

The rogues scouted ahead, looking for more traps, but there were none.  What there were more of were templars, and more mages.  One of the mages was standing next to a familiar-looking templar and shouted out, “I told you she was hunting us!”

“No, not her.  I can’t do this,” the templar said, and ran off just as more templars and mages ran up.

“To arms!” the mage cried, and then they were in the thick of battle, fighting both groups.  They were outnumbered, but Hawke had found that meant little; the templars went down harder than the mages did, as the mages were obviously not trained for combat, but eventually all their attackers were down, and Hawke was holding on to her staff and panting.  Two big fights in one night; she could do it, but she wasn’t as used to it anymore, thanks to staying at home with Bethy as much as she had done.

None of the mages seemed like blood mages, either.  At least, there wasn’t the usual smell of blood magic in the air, that Hawke had become so used to, and the templars didn’t seem to be under anyone’s control, moving independently of the mages.  Hawke was growing more confused by the moment; what were these mages hoping to accomplish?  And why did they insist on attacking her immediately, instead of talking to her?

When the last templar had been beaten down and the final mage had fallen, the templar who had run off before came creeping back out, looking around at the carnage, horrified.

“I told them not to do it, I swear!” the templar said, and Hawke blinked at him.  He looked so familiar…  “If I knew you were the one they were talking about, I’d have warned you.  I don’t hold with kidnapping, not after what I went through.”

“Keran,” Hawke said, surprising herself with his name.  “Didn’t I save your life?”

“You did.  Believe me, I still dream about those blood mages; I don’t know where I’d be without your help,” Keran said.  She remembered him, then, the templar recruit she had saved from blood mages back years ago, before she even became the Champion.  It seemed like forever ago, and she closed her eyes and shook her head.  “I’d never have let them kidnap anyone I knew was one of yours,” he said, and her eyes opened wide.  She felt a jolt of panic run through her and off to the side she saw the tell-tale blue flashing of Fenris’s markings.  Kidnapped?  Had they kidnapped _Bethy?_

“What are you talking about?” she demanded, and the templar looked down, fidgeted with his gauntlets.

“They said someone was spying, that we needed leverage, someone they cared about.  As a hostage.  Your brother, Carver, is well-known in the templars, and… they took him.”

“You took my brother?!” she yelled, and felt ashamed when relief flooded through her.  They took Carver, but not Bethany, and that meant Bethany was safe.  Carver was a grown man and could tend to himself, if he needed to, but Bethy was a toddler, and it was Hawke’s job to keep her safe.  That she managed to do so, and keep her out of this insanity, made her feel a little better about herself.  “Where is he?!”

“They left for the ruins on the Wounded Coast.  We have a kind of base there,” Keran said, trying to sound soothing, Hawke supposed, but just irritating her further. “They… they should have just talked to you.  I know you’re a reasonable person.  You have to see how dangerous Meredith is.  Thrask says Meredith will cause open war with the mages if she stays in charge, and that we have to take her down, and I agree.”

“Was this whole thing to oust the Knight-Commander?” Hawke asked, irritated.  Her blood was still hot from fighting, and from the extra rush of thinking Bethy was in danger; knowing Carver had been the one who was kidnapped eased the tension, but it didn’t go away completely; he had, after all, been _kidnapped_ because of Hawke’s investigation.

“She needs to go, don’t you see?” Keran asked, and she could hear Aveline groan in the background.  Hawke felt a little like groaning herself.  Maker, but she was tired of mages and templars and an insane Meredith.  “We need a _real_ Viscount, and templars who protect mages, not massacre them.  Just look what Thrask has accomplished!  Mages and templars, working together.  Isn’t that what we all want?”

“Is Thrask the one who’s running this conspiracy?” Hawke asked.  She remembered him; Anders had said he seemed like a good sort, for a templar, and Hawke had agreed.  He seemed to truly want mages and templars to get along, and for mages to be protected as opposed to abused.  But it had been years since she worked with Thrask, as well.

“He’s the one who’s brought us together.  For six years, he’s been working –one mage, one templar at a time –teaching us that we don’t have to hate each other.  He’s showed us that Meredith isn’t the only way.”

“I am not your enemy in this,” Hawke said, tiredly.  “I think Meredith is a dangerous zealot and I think that we need a real Viscount on the Viscount’s throne.  But you can’t just go around kidnapping people!”

“Go talk to Thrask,” Keran urged.  As if she wouldn’t!  He had her brother!  “He would welcome your aid.  I promise you, Meredith is the only one we’re trying to harm.”  A cough from Aveline, and Hawke half-turned to the Guard-Captain.  Perhaps talking about an insurrection in front of the Captain of the Guard in Kirkwall wasn’t the _best_ idea.

“Go back to your sister’s, Keran,” Hawke said, making a shooing motion with her hands.

“I will,” Keran promised.  “Please don’t tell Meredith about me.  If I got in trouble, it might kill Macha, and I can’t have that.”  He nodded at Hawke solemnly, and then left, presumably through a back door.  Hawke turned to her crew and sighed.

“I guess we need to go rescue Carver,” she said; no one looked particularly thrilled over that except for Merrill, who had been coldly quiet during the entire conversation.  “Don’t worry,” she said to the Dalish.  “We’ll get him and he’ll be okay.”

“They shouldn’t have kidnapped him,” Merrill said, sharply, and Hawke agreed.  “If they’ve hurt him…”  She left the rest of the threat unfinished.

Hawke glanced around the warehouse; Isabela was done looting the bodies, apparently, and Varric was busying himself with Bianca.  Fenris and Anders were standing as far apart as they could while still being close to Hawke, and Aveline was standing at a relaxed attention, waiting for Hawke’s next words. 

“We’ll set out in the morning to get him,” she decided.  Merrill did not look best pleased at the news –no doubt she wanted to go out and find Carver _then_ —but Hawke knew it would be for the best, for them to be fresh when they went out.  Marching all night, searching the Wounded Coast in the dark, those were bad ideas, especially as cold as it was.

“I’m with you, Hawke,” Aveline said, nodding to her friend.

* * *

“I… I’m sorry,” Alain said, standing over Carver’s prone body.  “I’m sorry.  Grace used blood magic to hold him.  There’s no other way to wake him up.” 

It was the next day, and Hawke and her crew had fought their way up through the Wounded Coast, finally finding the mage/templar hideout; it wasn’t too far from Kirkwall, but it was well-hidden, in a cove that wasn’t much used because it had poor access to fresh water and only one way to get out, unless one happened to fancy diving over the cliffs. 

There, they found Thrask, working with mages from the Circle, including one named Grace.  When confronted by Hawke, Thrask said he was unable to understand why the Champion would side with Meredith, and finally Hawke managed to get through to the templar that she _wasn’t_ sided with Meredith; she just wanted her brother back, and for all this to be over.

Thrask wanted it to end pacefully, but the mage, Grace, whom Hawke had rescued from potential templar death years before, only wanted to see Hawke and her brother dead.  She couldn’t understand why the woman was so intent on her death; she had _helped_ Grace, after all, and Alain as well, when they were on the run.  Alain wanted to go back to the Circle, so Hawke had sent him on to Thrask, and then lied through her teeth to Thrask and another templar, Karras, to give Grace and the rest of her mages time to get away.  It seemed, however, that decision had come back to bite her in the ass. 

Alain cut into his palm, and let the blood drip down, onto where Carver was lying.  A moment passed, and then another, and then Carver was sitting up, blinking and looking around.

“What in the Void…”

“Carver,” Hawke said, relieved, at the same time that Merrill rushed to where he lay.  Carver looked confused, but embraced Merrill anyway; for her part, the Dalish elf was a half-step away from sobbing in relief.

“Where am I?” Carver asked, looking around in confusion.

“I’m surprised at you,” Hawke said, teasingly, as Merrill helped Carver to his feet.  “A couple of templars took you down?”  He shook his head.  “We’re on the Wounded Coast.  I guess you didn’t know anything about this plot against Meredith, did you?”

“All I know is that one minute I was headed back to my room, and the next I’m waking up here,” Carver said, irritated.

“I won’t let anything like this happen to you again,” Hawke said, and Carver frowned.

“Thank you, Sister.  It seems I am again in your debt… and shadow.”

At that moment, Hawke heard the clanking of armor marching towards them and she turned and saw the Knight-Captain, Cullen, leading men. 

“Just bloody wonderful,” she muttered to herself, and pushed a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.  In the fighting, it must have come loose from the tail she had in it; there were an awful lot of mages, and blood mages, this time, who were intent on her losing her life today.  Hawke was lucky it worked out the other way around.

Luckily for them, Cullen was a reasonable man, and he wasn’t one who was going to take the responsibility for arresting the Champion; not with the Captain of the Guard there to give Hawke’s work some legitimacy.  She discussed the situation with Cullen and soon the few mages and templars who were simply unconscious instead of dead were being taken into custody.

“Go easy on them, Knight-Captain,” Hawke said, against her better judgement.  “They truly think their cause is just.”

“I will give that recommendation to the Knight-Commander, although I do not think she will follow it,” Cullen said, solemnly.  “Fare you well, Champion.”

Hawke sat down on one of the larger rocks, resting her elbows on her knees, when Carver trotted up to her.

“I’m going back with Cullen,” he said.  “I wanted to thank you again, Marian.”

“It’s all in a day’s work,” she said, tiredly.  Carver looked uncomfortable, and Hawke shook her head.  “You go on, Carver.  We’ll follow you after I’ve had a bit of a rest.  I used an awful lot of mana on those blood mages.”

“I’ll stop by and see you.  Maybe tomorrow afternoon?” he suggested.  “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you and Bethy and I know the Knight-Commander wants me to keep an eye on you.”

“Are you really keeping an eye on me?” she asked, archly, and Carver chuckled.

“The whole city keeps its eye on you, Sister,” he said, ruefully.  “What need have I to look after you?  Your doings are the most well-known gossip in Kirkwall.”  Hawke made a face, which caused Carver to chuckle again.  “I’ll see you later,” he said, and then he was off following Cullen and the other templars.

“Hawke, I’m sorry that any mage thought that this was a good idea,” Anders said, coming up to her as soon as Carver was away.  “You know that mages need to be free, deserve freedom, but…”

“But not when it comes at a price you don’t want me to have to pay?” she asked him, and Anders shuffled his feet, kicked a rock.

“You’ve done so much good for the mages here, I can’t believe they would have stooped to kidnapping Carver,” he said, and Hawke shrugged.

“At this point, I can believe anything of them.  I’m so tired of hearing about mages and templars I could spit.”

“Everyone is going to have to choose a side, Hawke.  Even you.”

“That sounds very much like a threat,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Anders.  Her temper was already up and the other mage should have known better than to stomp on it.

“It’s not a threat, it’s just reality,” Anders replied, sincerely.  Hawke rolled her eyes and made a dismissive gesture at him, but Anders didn’t leave.  “Hawke, I need to know that you’re on my side.”

“You know I am already, Anders, but the pressuring me about it?  That’s getting old, fast.”

“Good.  That’s good, then.  That you’re on my side.”  Hawke rolled her eyes again and Anders shrugged uncomfortably and tried his hand at kicking another innocent rock.

“Well, we’re losing daylight,” Hawke said, after a few minutes of silence had passed between them.  “We’d better get back to Kirkwall.”

“Can we go by the Chantry tomorrow?  So I can get the… thing… I need?” Anders asked, voice suddenly low.

“I suppose we can,” she agreed, keeping her voice low as well.  “Although I wish you’d tell me what it is you need.”

“You know I can’t,” he said, plaintively, and Hawke shook her head. 

“I just wish you trusted me.  I trust you.”

“I trust you as much as I can,” Anders replied, and Hawke shook her head again.  She stood up from the rock and stretched, and then gathered everyone up for their trek back to Kirkwall.

Merrill had not gone with Carver back to Kirkwall, for obvious reasons, and she seemed to find some comfort in walking with Hawke, probably because Hawke wasn’t trying to make her talk or soothe her with false words.  There wasn’t that much talking at all, actually, on the way back; everyone seemed to be tired, and the cold was getting to all of them, quickly.  It took several hours, but once they made it back to Kirkwall proper, Merrill peeled away from the group quickly and rushed off back to her home in the alienage without giving Hawke a proper chance to talk to her. 

“Poor Merrill,” Aveline said, softly, and Hawke could do little but agree.

The next day, and with a sudden, sharp surge of guilt, Hawke told Fenris to stay behind in the estate, while she went with Anders.  It wasn’t that she was lying to Fenris, precisely, but she knew he would resent being part of whatever it was she was trying to do, especially if it meant freeing mages, which she was fairly certain was going to be the case.  Fenris, for his part, took the request poorly, but acceded to her wishes regardless.  Hawke promised him she wouldn’t be gone long, and that they would spend the rest of the day together, and that seemed to mollify him slightly.

Once she and Anders entered the Chantry, Anders turned to her.  “I’ll find you as soon as I’m done,” he said, and Hawke nodded in acquiescence.  Then he was walking away, and disappeared to the side, leaving Hawke to find the Grand Cleric and speak with her alone.

One of the benefits of being the Champion was that she did not have to wait to speak with the Grand Cleric.  Elthina was always willing to talk to the Champion, especially since Hawke was one of the few voices of reason, and power, in the city.  When she came across the Grand Cleric, Hawke noted that she looked as tired as she felt, and felt another sharp surge of guilt run through her.  Elthina was a good woman, and whatever Anders was fetching surely couldn’t mean anything good.  However, she couldn’t see it harming Elthina directly, which was one reason she agreed to the request.

“Maker’s blessing, Champion,” Elthina said, in those calm tones of hers.  “Have you come to pray?”

“Not today, Your Grace.  I wanted to know if you have thought more on the mages and templars, and about which side you will take.”

Elthina’s gaze hardened slightly.  “It’s no secret that you count apostates among your friends, Champion.  You have done much to fan the flames of rebellion here.  But we must give Meredith and Orsino more time to work out their differences.  No good can come of showing favor to one side.”

“If the Maker created mages, why doesn’t he protect them?” Hawke asked, and Elthina sighed and shook her head.  Her hair had grayed even more, since the first time Hawke had seen her.

“I feel for the mages, I do,” Elthina said, earnestly.  “I would not wish to be locked in the Gallows. But, I cannot take sides.  We are all the Maker’s creatures, but magic allows abuses beyond the scope of mortals.”  Hawke wanted to argue the point, but seeing the exhaustion on the Grand Cleric’s face, she thought about it again and decided not to.  “I only hope,” Elthina continued, “that I can balance the needs of everyone.  For if it comes to war, it is the people of this city who will lose.”

“There you are,” Anders said, trotting up.  “I’ve been looking for you all over.  Your Grace,” he continued, nodding to Elthina politely.  She shook her head.

“Your soul is troubled, child.  I hope you found a balm for it here.”

“I will trouble you no more, Your Grace,” Hawke said to Elthina.  “Until next time.”

“Until next time, Champion,” Elthina said, and Hawke walked out of the Chantry quickly, with Anders by her side.

Once they were out of the Chantry, Anders seemed to deflate some, and he sighed deeply.  “Hawke,” he said, voice quiet.  “Let me take a moment to tell you how much I respect you.  You’ve stood by me when I gave you every reason to turn away.”

“We’re friends, Anders,” Hawke said, slowly.  That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“Whatever happens,” Anders said, “I wanted you to know that.”

“Why are you talking like this?” Hawke said, descending the Chantry steps with Anders.

“He’ll still be here, you know –Justice—long after you and I are gone. It doesn’t mean the same thing, to a spirit.  He’ll just go back to the Fade.”

“You’ve been a good friend, Anders.  Why are you talking like this?  Is something wrong?”

“No, I haven’t been a good friend, and I’m sorry,” he replied, sounding sad.  Hawke stopped, in the middle of the Chantry courtyard, and turned to him.

“What do you mean?”

“I was hoping we’d find a better way, but… Justice and Vengeance are too intertwined.  I can’t tell one from the other.  I just… wanted you to know that you have been a better friend than I have ever thought to have,” he finished, somewhat lamely.

“Did you get what you needed?  From the Chantry?”

“I… yes,” Anders said, and then looked her in the eye.  “I’ve got to go, Hawke.  I need to get to my clinic.  I’ll talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later,” she said, taken aback at the abrupt departure.  Anders smiled at her, a weak thing, and took off through Hightown as if templars were on his trail.

Hawke shook her head and headed back to her home; it would be good to spend some quality time with Fenris and Bethy, after the last several days.  Hopefully, the peace and quiet would last.

* * *

Hawke sat up in her bed and looked around, confused.  Why was she in bed?  She tried to remember, and then it came to her; she had laid down for a nap, just a little while ago.  So… what woke her up so abruptly?  She slid out of bed and padded to the door, listening carefully.

Downstairs, Fenris was arguing with someone, and Hawke quickly made her way down to where they were.  The other man was, apparently, a messenger, intent on delivering his message, and Fenris was trying to get him to back off.

“It’s okay, Fenris, I’m awake now,” she said, giving the messenger a weak smile. 

“Messere Champion, I wouldn’t have bothered you, but the First Enchanter said it was urgent that you get this message.  _Urgent_.”

“It’s alright,” she told him, soothingly, holding her hand out for the message, and the messenger’s own hand shook as he laid the paper on there.  “Fenris?  Will you see him out?  Gently, please.”  Fenris grumbled, but pointed the way back to the front door, while Hawke unfolded the message and read over it.  It didn’t take long; the note was short, and she scanned it several times by the time Fenris got back.

“What is so urgent?” he asked, and she handed the note over to him.  He read it, too, at least twice, if the movement of his eyes told her anything, although the scowl on his face did not lessen.  Once he was finished, he shoved the note back towards her.  “What do you wish to do?”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Hawke said, heading back upstairs.  She had changed into regular clothes once she had gotten back home, and now she wanted her best robes.  “We should pick up the others before we go to the Gallows, just in case.”

“All of them?” Fenris asked, and Hawke nodded in the affirmative.  Within moments, she and Fenris were back armed and armored appropriately, and, with a few words spoken of their return, to Bodahn, they were headed out, towards the barracks.

Within an hour, everyone except Anders had been gathered, and Hawke could not find him anywhere; he wasn’t in his clinic, and he wasn’t in The Hanged Man.  The note had been too urgent for her to do much more looking.  They boarded the ferry for the Gallows without Anders, and Hawke bit her thumbnail all the way there, wishing they had another Healer in case things went badly for them.

But there was naught to be seen at the Gallows except a lone mage, who ran up to Hawke and her crew and explained that Orsino and Meredith were at it again and they had gone to the Chantry to involve the Grand Cleric this time.

_Great_ , Hawke thought, as they reboarded the ferry, irritated at the wasted trip.  _Of course it had to be the Grand Cleric.  The woman won’t want to see me again so soon_.  They hopped off the ferry at the docks and headed up through Lowtown, hoping to stop by The Hanged Man and see if Anders was there this time.

They did not get far, however; before too long, Hawke ran across Meredith and Orsino, who were arguing.  There were several templars on Meredith’s side, and a handful of mages on Orsino’s.

“I will have the tower searched.  Top to bottom!” Meredith was shouting at Orsino, and the First Enchanter’s face was growing stormier by the word.

“You cannot do that!” he shouted back.  “You have no right!”

“I have every right,” Meredith responded in her clipped tones.  “You are harboring blood mages, and I intended to root them out before they infect this city!”  Hawke rolled her eyes as they came up on the scene; blood mages, _again_.  _Where does Meredith_ not _see blood mages_?  Even Fenris was not that paranoid about them.

“Blood magic!  Where do you not see blood magic?” Orsino asked, echoing Hawke’s thoughts.  “My people cannot sneeze without you accusing them of corruption.”

“Do not trifle with me, mage.  My patience is at an end.”

“A wonder, that I never saw it begin!” Orsino shot back.

“The way you two carry on,” Hawke said, interrupting their argument, “people will talk.”

“This does not involve you, Champion,” Meredith said, turning to her.

“I called her here,” Orsino replied.  “I think the people deserve to know just what you’ve done.”

“What I have done is protect the people of this city, time and again. What I have _done_ is protect you mages from your curse and your own stupidity. And I will not stop doing it!  I will not lower our guard, I dare not!”

“Knight-Commander, surely there must be some proof to go along with these accusations?  Surely if you bring the proof before the First Enchanter—“

“I have all the proof I need,” Meredith snapped, and Hawke stepped back.  The woman looked and sounded insane; wisps of hair stuck out from around the mock-crown that she wore, and her eyes had bags under them as if she hadn’t slept for days. 

“You’re not helping with the tension, Meredith,” Hawke said, nearly hissing the words.  “Are you crazy?”

“What other option do we have?” Meredith asked.  “Tell me, Champion, that you have not seen with your own eyes what they can do, heard the lies of mages that seek power!”

“Some of us want exactly what you want, Meredith.  We’re not the enemy.”

“You would cast us all as villains,” Orsino said, coming forward to where Hawke and Meredith were, “but it is not so!”

Meredith gazed at him for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was gentle.  “I know, and it breaks my heart to do it, but we must be vigilant.  If you cannot tell me another way, do not brand me a tyrant!”

“This is getting us nowhere,” Orsino said, voice quiet.  He shook his head and looked down.  “Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this.”  He turned and started walking away from Meredith, towards Hightown.  Meredith rushed forward and grabbed him by the arm, twirling him around towards her.

“You will not bring her Grace into this!”

“The Grand Cleric cannot help you!” Anders called out, and everyone turned to where he was approaching from a side street.  He was wearing new robes, black ones, much different from his normal cut and style, and he was carrying what Hawke knew was his most powerful staff.  He marched right up to where Meredith and Orsino were arguing and stood before them, back straight.

“Explain yourself, mage,” Meredith said, turning to him.

“I will not stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals,” he said, stepping forward, until he was nearly in Meredith’s face, “while those who would lead us bow to their templar jailers!” He finished, turning to where Orsino was standing.

“How dare you speak to—“ Orsino managed to get out.

Anders pounded his staff on the ground.  “The Circle has failed us, Orsino!  Even you should be able to see that!”  The tell-tale blue of Justice began showing through cracks in Anders’s skin, through his eyes, and Hawke got a sinking feeling in her stomach that there was about to be a big fight; she wasn’t sure if Meredith or Orsino were aware of Anders’s “special passenger” of Justice, but she did not think now was a good time for them to be finding out.  “The time has come to act,” Anders, or the man who was supposed to be Anders, intoned, and he turned away from all of them, eyes cast on the ground.  “There can be no half-measures.”

“Anders?  What have you done?” Hawke asked, stepping towards him and reaching for his arm.

“There can be no turning back,” Anders replied, much more quietly than he had been speaking.

Before Hawke could open her mouth to speak again, there was a loud rumbling up from the Chantry, and she glanced in its direction.  What were those sounds?  She looked over at Anders again, but his eyes were still on the ground before him, and he had a hunched-over look.  Quickly, she shared a look with Fenris, and then with Aveline, both of whom shrugged; Fenris, at least, came forward to stand by Hawke.

And then it happened.

In a huge flare of red light, the Chantry exploded.

Hunks of the building flew everywhere, and wherever they landed, they caught on fire. Smoke filled the air thickly, even as far away as they were in Lowtown, and Hawke fell to her knees, coughing and trying to cover her mouth to keep from inhaling the dust and smoke.  In the dark of the evening, the fires burned brightly.

It took long moments for the smoke to clear enough for her to stand, and when she did, Meredith was standing as well, her gaze locked on where the Chantry should have been.

“Maker have mercy!” she said.

Anders was up beside Hawke, and he said, in a low voice, “There can be no peace.”  She felt like slapping him.  She felt like a fool; was _this_ what he needed her for, to distract the Grand Cleric?  Were those things she helped him get, at the risk of her own life, in the case of the drakestone, were those things used to cause this explosion?  Hawke felt her anger rise, and it was only her own self-control that kept her from going for Anders’s throat.

“Elthina, no!” Sebastian called from behind, and Hawke came to herself with a start; she had almost forgotten about the almost-Brother.  “Maker, no!  She was Your most faithful, Your most beloved…”  He fell to his knees, eyes locked on where the Chantry had been only moments before, the tears in his voice discernable to all. 

Hawke turned back to Anders, who was now being addressed by a shocked Orsino.  “Why?  Why would you do such a thing?”

“I removed the chance of compromise, because there _is_ no compromise,” Anders said, sounding perfectly sane and logical.  That did not stop Hawke from wanting to slap him silly.

“The Grand Cleric has been slain by magic, the Chantry destroyed,” Meredith said, slowly, as it sank in.  “As Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, I hereby invoke the Right of Annulment.  Every mage in the Circle is to be executed immediately!” she said, loud enough for everyone around to hear her.  Even the templars who were with her looked at each other uneasily; the mage who had done the horrible deed was right there, why punish the other mages who were innocent?

“The Circle didn’t even do this!” Orsino shouted in return.  “Champion, you can’t let her.  Help us stop this madness!”

“And I demand you stand with us,” Meredith cut in, pointing at Hawke.  “Even you must see that this outrage cannot be tolerated!”

“Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when the monster who did this is right here?” Sebastian shouted, adding his voice to the fray.  Hawke looked around desperately for Fenris, and found him standing with Aveline, Isabela, Varric, and Merrill; she gazed at him, but his returned look gave her no answers.  How she wanted to have him back home, right now, with Bethany, and none of this foolishness, none of this _depravity_ , ever having happened…  “I swear to you, I will kill him!” Sebastian finished.

“It can’t be stopped now,” Anders said, turning to Hawke and ignoring the Chantry Brother.  “You have to choose.”

Why?  Why did she have to choose?  Why did _she_ have to be the one to make this choice?  It wasn’t that Anders had left her with many options, damn the man; any goodwill she had felt towards him was disappearing quickly, and, with tears prickling her eyes, she thought of how he must have lied to her to get her help in this horrible deed.

She turned to Orsino, and, with a sigh, said, “This won’t be easy, but I’ll defend you.”

“But what of Anders?” Sebastian asked.

“Hawke, if you do this, I don’t know if I can follow,” Aveline said, and Fenris followed her quickly.

“It is a mistake, but I won’t abandon you,” he said, as she knew he would.  It was still nice to hear the words said.

“You sure about this?” Varric asked.  “Even you might not win this fight.”

“I know we can do this.  I believe in you, Hawke,” Merrill said.

“Ah, shit.  What have you gotten yourself into this time, Isabela?” 

“Think carefully, Champion.  Stand with them and you share their fate.”

“I can live with that,” Hawke stated, plainly.

“Thank the Maker,” Orsino breathed.

“I see what you are trying to do, and my place is with you,” Aveline said to Hawke.  She was really the only one Hawke couldn’t have been sure of, Guard-Captain that she was; would she have really turned on Hawke, or would she have walked away, and left Hawke to her own devices?  Thankfully, she never needed to find that out.

“You are a fool, Champion,” said Meredith. “Kill them all!” she ordered her templars.  “I will rouse the rest of the Order!”  The templars drew their weapons as Meredith trotted off, back towards the Gallows.

“Great,” Hawke muttered to herself.  Just what they needed; a rousing fight against templars, to get continue with this madness. 

These templars, though well-armed and armored and well-trained to fight, did not last long up against Hawke and her crew, along with Orsino and the other mages.  They were too well-prepared, too trained, to be easy templar meat, and soon the fight was over and Hawke was wiping the sweat from her brow before the frigidly chill wind blew it away and caused her to shiver.

Orsino walked over to one of the dead templars and gazed down at him, shaking his head.  “So, it’s come to this,” he said, mournfully.  “I don’t know if we can win this war, Champion, but thank you.”  He glanced over to where Anders was now sitting on a crate, staring into space.  “I will leave your… friend… for you to deal with.  I must return to the Gallows.  Meet me there as soon as you can.”  And then Orsino was off, running in the direction of the docks.  Hopefully, Hawke thought, he wouldn’t meet Meredith on the way, or else there would be more bloodshed.  But at least it would be bloodshed she wasn’t part of.

Hawke walked over towards Anders and gazed down at him.  The blonde mage was just sitting there, staring.  Then suddenly, he said, “There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already said to myself.  I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever to achieve this.  This is the justice all mages have awaited.”  Hawke felt the anger rise up in her; this wasn’t justice, this was murder.

“I didn’t ask for this, Anders,” she said, sharply, and Anders lowered his head.

“I wanted to tell you,” he said, which surprised her.  He hadn’t seem to have wanted to tell her _anything_ about his activities.  “But what if you stopped me?  Or worse, what if you wanted to help?  I couldn’t let you do that.”

“I wouldn’t have tried to help you do this, no worries there,” Hawke spat, but Anders didn’t seem to be listening to her.

“The world needs to see this.  Then we can all stop pretending the Circle is a solution,” Anders went on.  “And if I pay for that with my life… then I pay.  Perhaps then, Justice would at least be free.”

“Did that spirit tell you to do this?” Hawke asked him, and was surprised when he actually answered.

“No.  When we merged, he ceased to be.  We are one now.  I can no more ignore the injustice of the Circle than he could.”

“So it’s up to you to decide how things should be?” she asked, angrily.

“It’s obvious how things _shouldn’t_ be,” Anders replied, sounding angry for the first time that evening.  “The people fear what we can do, but to use that fear to bludgeon us into submission is wrong!  And they do it with our blessing!

“You’re coming with us,” Hawke said, pulling Anders to his feet roughly.  “You have to help make this right.”

“No!” Sebastian said, stepping forward.  “You cannae let this abomination walk free.  He dies, or I am returning to Starkhaven.  And I will bring such an army with me on my return that there will be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!”

“Sure, make things worse, Sebastian,” Hawke replied, putting as much dripping sarcasm into the statement as she could.  “Anders is coming with us, and he’s going to help make things right.  After that… we’ll see what we see,” she finished.

“I will not fight you, Hawke,” Sebastian said, surprising her.  “My death now would serve nothing. I will return to Starkhaven.  But… I swear to you, I will come back and find your precious Anders.  I will teach him what true justice is!”  Hawke shook her head as Sebastian walked away, sadly certain that was the last she was ever going to see of her friend.  She glanced to the others, wondering who would be the next to leave her.  Not Fenris; please, let Fenris stay by her side.  A look at Anders made her feel angry all over again.  She had lost two friends this day, at least, regardless of how the day ended.

“We’d probably best get to the Gallows,” Varric said, gently, appearing at her side suddenly.  “And quickly.  It’s going to be quite a show, I think.”

“A fitting end for your book, then, Varric?” Hawke asked, as gently as she could, and Varric chuckled.

“So long as we’re the winners, Hawke.”


	40. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now we come to the end of our tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More in-game dialogue ahoy!

The docks were basically empty by the time Hawke and her crew got there. 

They had come back through Lowtown through insanity.  Hawke thought, for a moment, to run by Gamlen’s place, to tell him to get to her estate and keep the door locked, to watch out for Bethy, but as soon as the thought was there it was gone, replaced with an urge to move, to get going, to get to the Gallows as soon as she could.

As luck would have it, there was an abandoned ferry there, and Isabela knew how to steer it.  Hawke wasn’t going to argue; she hopped onto the thing, and the others followed her, Isabela nearly crowing over the fact that she got to captain _something_ , even if it was just a small ferry and even if it was just to the other side of the harbor. 

Anders was trying to talk to her, trying to talk to _anyone_ who was willing to listen.  Hawke almost wished she had killed him, back then when she actually had a chance.  She glared at him instead, and did not answer his questions or respond to his statements.  Instead, she tried to keep herself calm, and focus her thoughts on surviving this, whatever _this_ was.

It was a shame, really; the Grand Cleric had been so sure that Meredith and Orsino could work things out, given enough time, and it seemed like things were at that impasse enough that it wasn’t going to come to actual blows.  Until Anders stepped in, that is. 

Fenris stepped up beside her and took her hand, which took Hawke by surprised.  She looked over at him and he smiled at her, somewhat grimly, but a smile, nonetheless. Hawke twined her fingers with his and held onto him as if he were a lifeline, as Isabela steered the ferry towards the other side of the Gallows.  She had her Fenris; everything was going to be alright.  It had to be.

She held on to his hand until the ferry docked, and then let go and jumped out of the boat, followed by the others.  Anders had, by that time, seen the direction the wind was blowing (it helped that Varric told him to “shut the hell up, Blondie,”) and had stopped going on about mage rights and trying to defend what he did as necessary.  Everyone was quiet, after that, without the usual banter.  The tension was nearly palpable in the air.

She trotted through the Gallows, sharply looking out for any sign of attack or any clue to where Orsino went, when she found the First Enchanter.  “Quickly, quickly!” he was shouting, urging the mages around him up a tall set of stairs.  A couple of templars were advancing on them, and Hawke had only a moment to think, _fools_ , before Orsino called lightning down on the two and fried them in their armor.  Hawke wrinkled her nose at the smell of burning flesh mingling with the smoke from the fires all around; it seemed as though the destruction of the Chantry reached this far, as well; she could see broken bits of building lying around, and flames licking the sides of stone walls.

“First Enchanter!” Hawke called out, and Orsino looked over to where Hawke and her crew were running up from the docks.

“Champion!  You’ve survived, thank the Maker!  We must—“

“And here you are!” Meredith called out, and everyone turned, as one, to where she was standing.  Hawke felt her stomach sink.

“Let us speak, Meredith!” Orsino cried, descending the stairs.  “Before this battle destroys the city you claim to protect!”

“I will entertain a surrender, nothing more,” Meredith said, coming forward.  Hawke drew back, and gave the two room to meet.  Perhaps they would find some way to work this out before it led to more bloodshed _.  And perhaps nugs would learn how to fly_.  “Speak, if you have something to say.”

“Revoke the Right of Annulment,” Orsino begged, “Meredith, before this goes too far. Imprison us, if you must.  Search the tower.  I will even help you.  But do not kill us all for an act we did not commit.”

“The Grand Cleric is dead, killed by a mage,” Meredith said, matter-of-factly.  “The people will demand retribution, and I will give it to them.”  Hawke shook her head, but did not step it.  Meredith almost seemed giddy at the idea of slaughtering all the mages for something Anders had done.  _She was waiting for something like this to happen.  This is like a Feastday gift for her_.  “Your offer is commendable, Orsino, but it comes too late.”

“I was kind of hoping for a happy ending,” Hawke said, with a theatric sigh.  Orsino looked to her as if surprised to see her there.  Meredith smiled grimly.

“I doubt we’ll be seeing that,” Orsino said, mournfully.

“And what about me?” a familiar voice called out, and Hawke took a half-step back.  Carver.  “Are you really going to fight your own brother?”

“I could ask you the same question, Carver,” Hawke said.

“This… isn’t what I want.  I…”

“Ser Carver!” Meredith barked out.  “I suggest you remember our purpose!”

“I… Yes, Knight-Commander,” Carver said, although he did not sound very convinced.

“I suppose I should have expected no less from _you_ , Champion,” Meredith said, turning to Hawke with a scowl.  “So be it.  You will share the Circle’s fate.”

“So what is it to be, Meredith?” Orsino asked.  “Do we fight here?”

“Go, prepare your people.  The rest of the Order is already crossing the harbor.”

“This isn’t over,” Orsino growled, and Meredith simply smirked at him and gathered up the templars.  Hawke watched Carver go with a heavy heart; her brother should be on her side, no matter what that side was.  She wasn’t prepared to fight him.

Orsino led the way up the tall staircase, and Hawke and her crew followed.  She felt exhaustion weighing on her as the night was getting later; she had truly gotten soft, in motherhood, although she had gotten harder in different ways.  At the top, Orsino gathered his mages together and spoke with them, while Hawke leaned against a wall and closed her eyes.  Fenris was at her side, but said nothing; they just stood there in comfortable, worried silence.  Her mind kept going back to her estate; surely it had survived the worst of the destruction?  Surely Bethy was alright, along with Bodahn and Sandal and Orana, and Hero?  She bit her bottom lip; fretting would do her no good, but she could not help it.

Eventually, Orsino came over to her.  “Are you prepared, Champion?  I believe the battle is almost upon us.

“Let the games begin,” Hawke replied, somewhat bitterly.

“Very well,” Orsino said, turning from her.  “You will need to give orders to your companions, and I will do the same for my people.”

“Other than ‘don’t get killed?’” Hawke quipped, but Orsino did not respond. 

“Here I am,” Fenris said, beside her, “about to defend these mages in hopeless battle.  You lead to me to strange places, Hawke.”  She chuckled dryly.

“I’ll take you to stranger places than this, just watch.”

“A tempting offer,” he replied, and she could hear the humor in his voice.  Maker, they were supposed to be getting married, not fighting against the Knight-Commander in some insane mage-templar war.  What would the rest of Thedas think of tonight?  “I… may not get the chance to say this again,” Fenris continued, and Hawke turned to look at him.  He was gazing down at the flagstones, not quite looking in her direction, but when she turned, he looked up at her, gazed into her eyes.  “Meeting you… was the most important thing that ever happened to me, Hawke.”  He stepped forward and caressed her cheek; the metal of his gauntlet was warm from wear and battle, and smelled of blood, but the gesture was touching.  “Promise me you won’t die,” he said, and her heart felt like breaking.  “I can’t bear the thought of living without you.”

“I don’t make that promise unless you do,” Hawke said, moving herself against him.  Fenris’s hands slid down her body and encircled her waist, and he pulled her against himself tightly.

“Nothing will keep me from you,” he said, and slanted his mouth over hers.  She parted her lips and closed her eyes, fingers digging into his arms as the kiss deepened; she could feel the touch of his tongue against her lips and so she parted them further, tilting her head to the side.  Their tongues danced together, gently caressing each other.

“Not that this isn’t fun to watch,” Isabela said, from behind them.  “But don’t we have a war to fight?”  Hawke started to pull back from Fenris a little, slightly abashed that they had been caught out like that when she should have been thinking of the fight ahead, but Fenris held her tightly, and pressed their lips together again, and then a third time, quickly; she remembered that kiss he gave her, after Carver showed up to the house in Grunding; he didn’t want to let her go any more than she wanted to be let go.  His fingers flexed on her flesh, but Hawke pulled back and pressed a finger against his lips.  She ignored Isabela, for the most part, who was making impatient sounds.

“We’ll get through this,” she said, firmly.  “We’ll get through this for Bethany, and for us.”

“Yes,” Fenris replied, just as firmly.  “We will.”  She turned away from him and straightened up her robes and patted her hair, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.  Isabela grinned at her cheekily, in a most knowing manner that made Hawke flush where getting caught kissing didn’t.

“Save that for after we’ve kicked their asses,” the pirate said, and Hawke laughed, softly.

The others gathered around her and watched Hawke with a variety of expressions.  Anders looked so sure, Merrill looked so unsure.  Varric managed to pull off an uninterested expression that told Hawke he was dying to write these things down.  Aveline looked stern, and Isabela looked somewhat amused.  Hawke couldn’t make herself look at Fenris again, but she reached out her hand to his and he took it.  Being together was enough.

“So, this is it,” she said, to the group in general.  “Some of you are worried.  Maybe I am, too, but I’m not staying long enough to find out.  What I know is that I don’t like being cornered, and I can fight harder scared than they can angry.”  She shuffled her feet and squeezed Fenris’s hand, then let it go so she could clutch her staff more tightly.  Her knuckles went white on it.  “We’re getting out of here, though, never you doubt it,” she continued.  “And I’m buying when we do.”  Isabela cheered that, and Merrill clapped, and a look of relief seemed to cross everyone’s faces.  Hawke smiled at them, a lot more confidently than she actually felt.  Maker, please let this go well.  Please do not make her have to fight Carver… 

“They’re coming!” one of the mages shouted, and Hawke looked over to where Orsino was standing with the Circle mages.  One of them was at the gate that was barring entrance into the square. 

And then the templars were there.

The poor Circle mages stood no chance against the templars.  They simply weren’t trained for combat, and several of them went down before Hawke and her crew could make it over to where the templars were pouring into the square.

But Hawke and her merry band of misfits had plenty of experience fighting templars, and soon the tide of the battle turned.  Hawke was exhausted by the end of it, her mana nearly depleted, but the templars were all mostly dead, and those that weren’t dead weren’t getting up for a while.  Orsino had hung back as much as he could, once Hawke and her crew entered the fray, but after the last of the templars fell to the ground he came forward.

“Look at it all,” Orsino said, gazing around at the carnage.  Hawke shook her head, wiping her brow before the cold wind could chill the sweat.  “Why don’t they just drown us as infants?  Why wait?  Why give us the illusion of hope?”

“Orsino—“ Hawke began, but Orsino interrupted her.

“I refuse to keep running!  I won’t wait for her to kill me!”

“Orsino, we’re going to win this,” Hawke said, but it was obvious the First Enchanter wasn’t listening to her.  His hands were clenched into fists and his eyes were wild.  “I hope you’re not giving up without at least taking a _shot_ at Meredith.” 

“I am not giving up,” Orsino replied, showing Hawke that he was listening.  “I am giving in.”  Her stomach churned; there was something very wrong here, suddenly.  “Quentin’s research was too evil, too dangerous, so I put it aside.”  Quentin?  She recognized that name; that was the name of the insane blood mage who had killed her mother.  “But I see now there is no other way.”  The bad feeling in her stomach grew, and Hawke stepped forward, hands outstretched to Orsino in an attempt to placate him.

Another handful of templars trotted up, swords drawn but not immediately attacking.  Hawke turned to face them, drawing on what mana she had left, but Orsino had other plans.  “Meredith expects blood magic?  Then I will give it to her.  Maker help us all.”

“No!” she shouted, turning back to Orsino, but it was too late.  He had a dagger drawn and he sliced his palm with it.  No, not Orsino!  What was he doing?  “Orsino!” she cried, running towards him.  There was no reason for blood magic.

He rose into the air, body flashing white, and then… _something_ … happened.  He flashed, and the dead bodies that surrounded him started twitching, then sliding towards him.  Hawke’s jaw dropped and she stepped back from the sight that was gathering before her eyes: the body parts attached themselves to Orsino, turning him into something grotesque and horrible.

“No,” she whispered.  The thing before her roared, and then Fenris was there beside her, flashing as his lyrium markings were activated, sword drawn.  Aveline was there, right beside him, and the two warriors fought with their blades while Hawke fell back further, head swinging between where the group of templars were standing and where what Orsino now was, was making its stand.

The templars must have sensed that the thing that used to be Orsino was the bigger threat, for they did not attack Hawke or her crew, instead rushing forward to assault the hideously grotesque thing that lumbered forward.  Hawke pulled on her mana and, when she found it was too empty for her to use, reached desperately into her belt pouch to pull out a lyrium vial.  Nearby, Anders was doing the same thing, and Merrill looked pale already; blood was dripping from her hands and Hawke knew she had resorted to using her own blood magic against the thing. 

With the templars’ help they managed to take it down, although it was disgusting and smelled like the most fetid charnel house she had ever been to.  Once it fell, some part of it, presumably the head, detached, and Hawke stepped on it, squishing it under her boot and wrinkling her nose in disgust.

And then they had to fight the templars.

By that time, it was just Hawke and her friends, and they were all tired.  The templars didn’t go down without a fight, but it was only a handful of them, and they had fought more under worse conditions before.  Hawke was surprised that none of the templars were thinking to use their abilities against her and the other two mages, but they seemed intent on fighting with just their swords and shields.

Soon the templars were down, and Hawke was easing herself to the ground, panting.  “Maker’s breath,” she muttered, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her arms on them.  “Orsino…”

“We can’t let what Orsino did color our views,” Anders came up to her and said, and Hawke shot him a dark, dirty look.  Anders fidgeted and shuffled his feet, shrugging uncomfortably, but he didn’t back down.  “Not all mages turn to blood magic, even in dire circumstances,” he said.

“But enough do,” Fenris put in, his voice growling with displeasure.  Hawke rolled her eyes and tilted her head back.

“Could we _please_ argue about mages and templars after we’re done with this _bloody_ war?” she screamed out.  Anders and Fenris both looked abashed and hushed their argument, which was really all Hawke wanted.  “We need to… to… find Meredith, I suppose, and stop her.”  She glanced to where the thing that had been Orsino lay hacked to pieces.  “It would have more legitimacy if _some_ mages hadn’t turned to… whatever that thing was, but still… we can’t let Meredith get away with slaughtering every mage in the city.”

“We’ve come this far,” Varric agreed, shouldering Bianca.  “Why not take it all the way?”

“Let’s go find ourselves a Knight-Commander,” Isabela said, wiping her daggers on the robes of one of the dead mages and grinning cheekily.

* * *

“And here we are, Champion.  At long last.”

Hawke stood before Meredith, back straight, staff gripped in both of her hands.  It had cost them to get this far, but they had bought their way to the Gallows courtyard in sweat and blood.  Most of the templars fought to the death; Hawke could only hope the few she managed to knock out would stay unconscious and not come back after them.  She was sick of death.

“I imagine you’ve wanted to be rid of me for some time,” Hawke said, arching her brows.  Meredith stood with her hands crossed over her breastplate, eyes flashing insanely.

“I bear you no ill will,” the Knight-Commander said, dropping into a more relaxed position.  Hawke took in those who were around her: Knight-Captain Cullen on one side, Carver behind her on the other.  She bit her tongue, just enough to keep from calling out Carver’s name.  Let it not end that way, with Hawke against Hawke.  “You’ve done this to yourself.  I am here to see order restored; what happens to you now is your own doing. You were never part of this Circle, and I tolerated that, but in defending them you’ve chosen to share their fate,” Meredith went on. 

Cullen stepped forward.  “Knight-Commander, I thought we intended to _arrest_ the Champion,” he said, disapproving.

“You will do as I command, Cullen,” Meredith snapped.  Hawke could feel Fenris tensing beside her; just let them _try_ to even arrest her.  Fenris would tear them all apart, templars or no.

“No!  I defended you, when Thrask started whispering that you were mad.  But this is too far,” he said, emphatically.

“I will not allow insubordination!” Meredith howled, drawing her sword; it glowed red in the night, and Hawke felt that sinking feeling in her stomach again.  Meredith turned to look at Hawke and stroked down the length of her sword.  “You recognize it, do you not?  Pure lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads.  The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize.”

“Holy shit, that’s the idol,” Varric said, and Aveline grunted behind them.

“The idol poisoned Bartrand’s mind in the end,” Hawke said, realizing that she was, indeed, now talking to someone thoroughly insane.  That explained so much.  How long had it taken for Bartrand to go insane with just a sliver of the idol, and how long had Meredith had nearly the entire thing?  It explained the last three years, certainly.

“ _He_ was weak,” Meredith said, lowering her sword and looking at Hawke.  “Whereas I am not.”  She turned to the rest of the templars and pointed the sword at Hawke again.  “All of you! I want her dead!”

“No!” Carver cried out, stepping forward.  “I won’t kill my sister for you!”

“You dare!” spat Meredith.

Cullen stepped forward again and lifted his hands in a placating gesture.  “Enough!  This is not what the Order stands for!  Knight-Commander, _step down._ I relieve you of your command!”

Meredith lowered her sword and looked to Cullen, an expression of horror on her face.  “My own Knight-Captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic!” she howled.  “You all have!  You’re all weak!” she said, her expression changing as she twisted around, bringing her sword back up at the ready as she did so.  The templars all stepped back and away from her, slowly, many raising their hands in supplication.  “Allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me!  But I,” she screamed, turning back to Hawke and raising her sword at him again.  “I don’t need _any_ of you! I will protect this city myself!”

Carver moved forward, in between Hawke and Meredith.  “You’ll have to go through me,” he said, voice solemn.

“And me,” Cullen said, moving to stand beside Carver.  His hand went to his sword and he half-drew it.

“Traitors,” Meredith spat.  “I’ll have both your heads!”  But none of the other templars were moving forward, to help or to hinder, and Meredith was left alone.

Meredith moved back several paces and twisted her sword, slamming it down into the flagstones.  She knelt behind it, and called out, “Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked… and do not falter!”  And then she was standing again, drawing the blade from out of the flagstones.

Hawke heard a great tearing, rending sound behind her and she turned to look.  One of the huge slave statues was pulling itself away from its hangings and stepping forward, slow, rusty steps.  Her mouth dropped and she screamed, flailing backwards away from the thing for just a moment before she gathered herself.  _You’re stronger than that.  You’ve fought high dragons and lived.  It’s just a statue.  A… living statue_. 

The other templars scattered, but Cullen and Carver rushed forward, swords drawn to attack the thing.  Off to the side, another statue was pulling itself loose, and Hawke saw Meredith rush forward, knocking her aside with her pauldrons. 

Fenris rushed after Meredith and the two clashed swords; Aveline flanked the Knight-Commander, striking out with her blade and trying to trip her up with her shield.  Insanity must have lent something to Meredith, for the Knight-Commander gave as good as she got, eyes flashing wildly.  Hawke heard the rending sounds and turned to see more statues pulling free; she swallowed hard and tried sending a lightning spell at the closest one.  It fell to its knees, shaking.

“They’re vulnerable to magic!” she called to Anders and Merrill, both of whom immediately cottoned on to the tactic and shot their own lightning spells at the things.  Varric hung back, taking aim at the Knight-Commander with Bianca, being very careful of his crossbow bolts, and Isabela circled the woman, darting in between Fenris and Aveline for dagger thrusts that were, hopefully, getting through the Knight-Commander’s armor.

Hawke threw everything she could at the Knight-Commander while Anders and Merrill tackled the statues, along with Carver and Cullen.  She went through two more lyrium vials in quick order, hanging back with the other two mages to try to stay out of the actual fighting as much as possible.  Meredith started faltering, tripping over her own boots and missing opportunities while taking more damage, Hawke noted; she had a long cut on her cheek that she thought was from Aveline, and her templar skirting had been ripped away jaggedly, probably by Isabela, who had been working on tripping the Knight-Commander up, since her armor seemed to be impervious to dagger thrusts.

The statues were all down, now, and Meredith was falling back.  She was panting, hard, and the cut on her face was streaming blood.  “It’s not enough that they make innocents suffer, no!  We would also have insult added to injury!  Spare the mages,” she spat.  “give them freedom, and they would use it to tear down everything that we hold dear!”  She wiped at the blood on her face and coughed; a trickle of blood dribbled down the corner of her mouth.  “No, I will not allow it.  Do you hear me, Champion?” she shrieked.  “I will defeat you!”

“Not likely,” Fenris growled, loudly enough to be heard across the square, and he rushed forward, causing Meredith to fall back further.  She feinted, and Aveline came around from the side again, trying to bash her with her shield.  Meredith danced out the way, and then tripped slightly.  It was obvious that the Knight-Commander was failing.

“Surrender, Meredith!” Hawke called out.

“Never!” Meredith cried, pulling back further, until she was on the opposite side of the square from where Hawke was maintaining her spells.  “Maker!  Guide your humble servant!  Please, tell me what I must do!”  She fell to her knees for a moment.  “What if… what if I’m not doing the right thing?  What if this is all madness?  Why else would this be taking so long?  No!” she cried out, forcing herself to her feet again and dodging sloppily as Aveline charged her.  “No!  I must remain vigilant!”

Hawke hit Meredith with another lightning bolt and the Knight-Commander staggered backwards.  “No!  I will not be defeated!” she cried, and her eyes were an eerie shade of red, reminding Hawke of when Justice took over Anders.  Her voice had changed, too, to something nearly unrecognizable as Meredith’s normally sharp tones.  “Maker!  Aid your humble servant!” she called out, raising the sword up in the air.

The sword exploded, shards of it going into Meredith’s exposed skin, and the Knight-Commander cried out in horror and pain mixed.  She glowed red, all of her, and Hawke stumbled backwards, holding up a hand to shield her from the brightness of the red light.  All the while Meredith shrieked and screamed.  She fell to her knees and grabbed her head, and then her entire body seemed to harden there, turned to red lyrium.  It smoked, from her eyesockets and from the various cracks and craters that used to make up her skin.  Hawke stood there, horrified and fascinated.

The templars that had scattered made their slow way back, half-surrounding Hawke and her crew.  Cullen still had his sword drawn and he shared a look with Hawke; she saw her own horrified fascination shared in his expression.  One of the templars ran up to the thing that had been Meredith and knelt beside her, nearly daring to touch her before drawing back and shaking her head.  Hawke saw some of the templars giving Cullen looks, glancing between where they stood and where Cullen was.

The Knight-Captain glanced between the remaining templars and Hawke’s group and then, grudgingly, nodded back towards the docks.  “Go,” was all he said, and Hawke didn’t need to be told twice.  She grabbed hold of Fenris and tugged him with her, taking Carver by the elbow with the other hand.  The rest of her group limped out behind them, in various states of unease and hurt.

“You’ve got to go, Hawke,” Aveline was saying, and Hawke shook her head as they walked.  Carver had pulled his arm away from her with a scowl, but that was nothing new from her brother.  Perhaps he was just irritated about being pulled away from the other templars?  If so, he would have to get over it.

“Where will I go, Aveline?” Hawke asked.  “Kirkwall has been my home as long as it has yours.”

“Grunding,” Fenris put in, quickly.  All eyes were suddenly on him and he stood up straighter.  “We can go back to Grunding, for the time being.  Few know of it, and it’s close enough that having some eyes and ears out will give us full warning, should anyone come after you.”

“It’s a good idea,” Aveline agreed.

“We’ll come with you, Hawke,” Merrill said, and Isabela put in her agreement as well.

“I could deal with a little vacation in the countryside,” Varric said, and Hawke shook her head, making a negating gesture with her hands.

“You realize that if all of us show up there, we’ll be found out more easily?  Some of us are going to have to stay here.  Merrill, Isabela, you two can come.  Carver?”

“I’ll come with you, for a while, Sister,” Carver said, and Hawke nodded her acceptance.

“Aveline,” she said, and the Guard-Captain raised a hand.

“I understand, Hawke.  Besides, my place is here, and with Donnic.  They’ll need a Captain of the Guard now more than ever, after tonight.”

“Hawke, you should let me come with you,” Anders said, and all eyes turned to him.  She could _see_ the mage shrink in on himself, his brown eyes darting from face to face uncertainly.

“You….” Hawke said, pointing a finger at him.  She couldn’t think of what to say.  “You…”  she said again, and then huffed and turned away from him, headed back for the docks.  She would deal with _him_ later, after she could think on it some.

Back to the docks for the second time, but this time, crossing over on the ferry was not as tense as before.  There was, indeed, a world full of unknown ahead of them, but Hawke felt confident that they would survive it, as they had survived so many things.

Once they were back in Lowtown, Hawke turned to Merrill and Isabela.  “Grab whatever you can and meet me at my estate as soon as you’re able to,” she said.  Both women nodded and took off.  “And stay together!” Hawke shouted after.  Isabela raised a hand in agreement, and Hawke took off the other direction, followed by the others.

She left Varric at The Hanged Man and ran up the stairs, higher and higher and up into Hightown.  Her heart sped up as she did so, and anxiety filled her; Bethy was okay.  She _had_ to be okay.  Her home was okay, Bethy was okay, Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana were okay, and Hero was just fine protecting them.  She kept chanting that to herself over and over, refusing to stop for a moment and catch her breath and instead rushing ahead.

She breathed a huge sigh of relief once she got to her estate and it was just fine.  There were no fires around it, and no one seemed to be loitering nearby, either.  Hawke trotted to the doorway and fished in her beltpack, trying to find her key.

“I’ve got it,” she heard Fenris say, softly to her.  He handed it over and Hawke, with shaking fingers, unlocked the door and stepped inside, looking around.

“Bodahn?” she called out.  “Orana?”  Hero bound up to her, wagging his stub of a tail and she heard Bodahn’s familiar, booted feet on the tile.

“Messere!” Bodahn called out, in relief.  “We weren’t sure… we thought…”

“We’re fine, Bodahn.  But… it’s insanity,” Hawke said, sinking down on the bench in the foyer.  “Bethy is all right?  Did Gamlen come by?”

“Orana put her to bed several hours ago,” Bodahn agreed.  Sandal crept out behind his father and waved.

“Hello,” Sandal said, solemnly, and Hawke waved to him.

“Hello, Sandal,” she said.

“Gamlen didn't come by, though, my lady.  He may be holed up in his home, staying safe.  Messere, I hate to bring this up now, but Sandal and I will be leaving tomorrow,” Bodahn said, gently.  “In light of everything…”

Hawke nodded.  “I’m grateful you stayed as long as you have, Bodahn.”

“It isn’t that we… well…” Bodahn said, uncertainly.

“No, you need to go, and you need to get out of Kirkwall as soon as possible,” Hawke said.  “We will be leaving tomorrow as well.”

“Where will you go?” Bodahn asked, and Hawke shared a look with Fenris.  Bodahn had not been informed of her whereabouts before, when they went to Grunding.

“I’m not sure yet.  Maybe we’ll head back to Ferelden,” she said, not quite meeting Bodahn’s gaze, and the dwarf nodded.

“Since we’re getting such an early start on things,” he said, backing away, “I think it’s best if Sandal and I go on to bed.”

“Goodnight,” Sandal said, waving again.

“Goodnight, Bodahn, Sandal,” Hawke said.  “If I don’t see you in the morning, I wish you the best.  I’ll try to write to you, in Orlais, once we get where we’re going,” she promised, on impulse.

Once Bodahn and Sandal had retreated to their rooms, Hawke stood up again and smoothed out her bloody robes.  “Right.  Best we get packing,” she said.  “I dread making that trip without a cart, but…”

“We will have to go with what we have,” Fenris said.  “We can buy more things on the way.  Perhaps even a mule and cart.  But we should go as quickly as possible.”

“I’m not looking forward to waking Bethy up,” she muttered.  “Carver, there are still some things in your room, if you want to get them packed.  Anders…” she said, gritting her back teeth.  “I don’t know what to do about you,” she finished, lamely.

“Let me go with you, Hawke,” he said.  “You might need me.”

“Is there nothing else you can do with yourself, abomination?” Fenris spat, angrily.

“Hawke might need me,” he said, again, sounding so forlorn that Hawke actually felt sorry for him for a moment. 

“Fine,” she said, after the silence had stretched on too long for comfort.  “You’re with us.  But if you’re not here with your things when we’re ready to leave, I’m leaving you behind.”  Anders nodded and took off towards the cellars, and Hawke put a hand to her forehead.  “Please tell me I’m not going to regret this,” she said, closing her eyes.

“At least you’ll have him where you can keep an eye on him,” Carver said, helpfully, and then headed off for his own room.  Hawke shook her head.

“It is a mistake,” Fenris replied, and then, after a moment, “But I think your brother might be correct.  Perhaps it is a mistake that needs to be made.”

“We could always lose him on the way there, if we needed to,” Hawke said, putting on a faux sort of chipperness, and Fenris gave her a dry smile.  “Come on, we need to get packed…”

* * *

Three days later and they were well on their way to Grunding.  Hawke had even managed most of a night’s sleep, although sharing the inn bed with Bethy as well as Fenris had had them all three too crowded.  At least it was warm, and at least Bethy was still small enough that her kicking didn’t hurt as much as it could have.  And, she thought, gratefully, at least she wasn’t Carver, to have to share a room and bed with Merrill as well as Isabela.  Surely the three of them would get too crowded, after a while, in these tiny beds at the inn.

Hawke was pulling her boots back on, trying to ignore Bethy tugging at her sleeve, when she sighed and rubbed at her eyes.  Most of a night’s sleep, but she was still exhausted, and Bethy was in a horrible mood.  She had another tooth coming in, Hawke was certain of that, and they did not have any time to stop and coddle the child, as they were rushing towards Grunding as quickly as they could, trying to outrun the news.

 _Not that outrunning the news is likely now_ , she thought.  For it was impossible to travel too quickly with the toddler, who was still training to learn how to use the privy (and proud of her training, to boot) and the rest of the group, who was as tired as Hawke was and didn’t see the point of rushing forward.

“The gossip’ll get there before us,” Isabela said, lazily.  “And even if we got there first, wouldn’t it look suspicious, the news following us like that?”

“I think you do not understand what Grunding is like,” Fenris replied, dourly, and Isabela just shrugged and laughed.

“Probably like every other little pissant town around here,” she said.  Hawke was too tired to argue; something just told her to make the best time that she could, and to leave the smallest trail behind possible.

Which wasn’t easy, with their group, but at least they didn’t have Orana with them.  Hawke had insisted that Orana either stay in Kirkwall, which she didn’t recommend, or go with Bodahn and Sandal to Orlais.  Orana had chosen Orlais, despite her obvious fright about the matter, and Hawke had pressed some gold into the girl’s hand and wished her well, before they left.  Not that Bodahn and Orana would need the luck as Hawke and what was left of her crew would, but…

“Mama, pretty,” Bethy said, and Hawke sighed and dropped the boot onto the floor. 

“Can it wait a moment?” she asked, and the exhaustion must have been obvious even to the small child, because Bethy just nodded her head.

“Yes,” she said.  Hawke grumbled and grabbed the boot up again, pulling it on and doing up the laces.  Once she was finished, she helped Bethy use the chamber pot that was shoved under the bed and then washed the child up using the washbasin that was sitting on the small vanity that the room boasted.  By the time it was all done, Fenris was back inside the room, shivering.

“Did you find anything?” she asked him.

“A farmer, willing to part with a mule, and a cart that the innkeeper is willing to part with for five times its cost.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she said, dully.  At least they had the coin; Hawke made sure to grab plenty of that before they left out, and it was distributed evenly amongst everyone except the toddler.

“No, but the innkeeper doesn’t have to beggar us,” Fenris replied, irritated.

“It will be better than having to carry Bethy the whole way there,” she said, cajolingly, and Fenris eventually nodded his agreement.

Fenris picked up Bethy, who made a grab for his ears and laughed when he pulled his head away, scolding her gently to not grab them.  Bethy had been, lately, fascinated with her father’s ears, and often tried to grab them and then touch her own.  Hawke had shown Bethy her own ears in a mirror and she wasn’t sure that her child understood that was the same girl there.  It was funny, and sweet, but she knew Fenris was growing irritated with having his ears pulled on in such a manner, and she hoped Bethy would be getting over it soon. 

He carried her out to the main room of the inn while Hawke went to the door of the room that Anders had taken, knocking on it quickly.  She opened the door without being invited and called in to him that it was time to leave, and then closed it quickly.  No one was wanting to spend any more time with Anders than they had to, at the moment.  She did the same thing at Carver’s door, except she waited for an invitation before she opened it.  She had learned her lesson on that the hard way, before.

“Come along if you’re ready.  If not, catch up with us,” Hawke said, closing the door behind her with a quick “click.” 

Fenris already had the cart and mule ready downstairs and waiting for them outside, and so it was up to Hawke to settle their bill and purchase some bread and cheese for breakfast, for them to parcel out on the way there.  Since it was still winter, and before the start of the new year, at that, food was still relatively abundant, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t dearly priced, and Hawke was disappointingly shocked at how much breakfast for all of them was going to be.  She was doubly glad of the coin they had brought, now, and was afraid she was going to have to try to cash in some of her letters-of-rights that Varric had slipped her, although she was unsure of where she would find a banker, or anyone with the ability to take the things this far to the west of Kirkwall. 

They were in the Planasene Forest itself, or at least the outskirts of it, by this point, having crossed two rivers and taken the road angling up into the forest instead of the one that followed along the coast.  That road went nowhere, she knew, and the one through the forest would take them to Grunding in less than two weeks, at this point.

Soon they had Bethy settled in the cart, wrapped up in a cloak, with her Chauncey bear.  Hawke knew that the child would get bored of sitting in the cart, eventually, but she also knew that they couldn’t possibly carry her the entire way to Grunding.  Isabela settled in the back, along with Merrill –they were all going to take turns riding in the cart, simply so no one got too worn out with the constant walking they would be doing.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t hire horses,” Hawke muttered, shaking her head so that her long hair danced around her face.

“You don’t know how to ride a horse,” Carver said, teasingly, and Hawke shrugged.

“I could learn,” she shot back.  “At least that would make the trip more interesting.”

“More interesting than it’s going to be?  You’ve got to be insane, Sister,” Carver said, sounding amused.

“I’ve got you along, of course I’m insane.”  Carver looked around and, when he saw no one else was looking, stuck his tongue out at his sister.  Hawke stuck her tongue out in return; childish as it was, Hawke needed the distraction.

As expected, the road to Grunding was long and boring, peppered with a bored toddler who just wanted to be someplace, already.  The novelty for riding in the cart wore off quickly with Bethy, and before the first hour was out, Hawke was carrying the child on her hip again, and, when she got tired of her mother carrying her, Bethy insisted on a turn with everyone else.

 _At least Anders can be good for something_ , Hawke thought, watching the mage entertain the child.  Anders was definitely the low man on the pole of the group, at the moment, and he found himself relegated to the worst of the chores for the time being.  Anders acted insanely grateful for even that much; Hawke was starting to suspect that he had been planning on not coming out alive when he pulled his “blowing up the Chantry” stunt back in Kirkwall, and now, with a new lease on life, he was taking full advantage of it.

So the days went, until they were a day away from Grunding: up early, packing the mule and cart, on their way.  The towns grew further apart until it took all day walking to actually reach them, and most of the time they traveled through farmland in the forest, on the narrow roadway that was the only lifeline for the majority of the villages. 

The Planasene Forest wasn’t well inhabited, anyway, and Grunding was the largest town before hitting the borders with Orlais or Nevarra.  It felt strange to be going back there with a child, instead of an idea of one, and it felt even stranger to be fleeing the beginnings of a war that she had, however inadvertently, helped start.  By the time they reached Grunding, word of what had happened in Kirkwall had come ahead of them, and Hawke hoped that they could pass themselves off as fleeing from the troubles.  She wondered if anyone even remembered her, or Fenris; it had been nearly two years, although they _had_ been there for several months, and Fenris was hardly one to be forgotten, because of his distinctive markings.

One day from Grunding, and they were having to camp out again.  The weather was frigid, but they were all warmly dressed, and Hawke had managed to grab some fire runes to help keep them warm otherwise; the runes would also come in especially handy in the house, she knew. 

Bethy was going from adult to adult, looking for attention, and Hawke was sitting on one of the logs they had pulled up around the fire, elbows on her knees and her chin cupped in her hands, staring dejectedly at the flames.  She was supposed to be planning her wedding now, getting married, not thinking about how they were going to hide in Grunding, or whether it would be better to flee to Nevarra instead of Orlais, or the other way ‘round, if worse came to worse.

Isabela plopped herself down beside Hawke and passed over a bottle; with a  raised brow, Hawke took it.  “Where did you get brandy?” she asked, and then took a long swig of the stuff. It wasn’t _good_ brandy, but it warmed her insides nicely.

“That last village, the one with the tavern but no inn.  I paid good coin for that, so you’d better enjoy it.”

“You _paid_ for alcohol?” Hawke asked, taking another swig.

“It was either pay for the alcohol or go without, and we’ve all gone without too much.  I can’t believe I’ve gone this many days without getting drunk,” she grumbled.

“Imagine how the rest of us feel,” Hawke quipped, and Isabela nudged her with an elbow and held out her hand for the bottle back; Hawke took a last swig and then returned it.  The warmth spread throughout her body nicely; she could even feel it in her toes.

“So, we’ve been out here for what, nearly two weeks now,” Isabela said, sliding down off the log so that it was at her back, and stretching her legs out towards the fire.  “That’s got to be enough time for you to get over whatever’s been bugging you.”

“You mean the Chantry exploding and the Grand Cleric being killed and it all being pinned on me?” Hawke asked, and Isabela winced.

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Damn right, when I put it that way.  We all had to flee our homes,” she said, disgruntled. 

“You can’t think of it as an adventure?” Isabela asked, and Hawke snorted.

“An adventure.  Maker, ‘Bela, I’m supposed to be planning my wedding now, not running for my life.”

“Why don’t you have your wedding right here?”

“What, right here?”  Hawke rolled her eyes.  “Don’t you think we need someone to officiate?”

“Why not me?” Isabela asked, tilting her head to look at Hawke with as serious an expression as Hawke had ever seen on her.  “I’m a captain.  I can officiate weddings.”

Hawke snorted again.  “Fenris would never go for it, and besides—“

“Oi!  Broody!” Isabela called, and Hawke put her face in her palms and shook her head.  Ah, well.  Perhaps it would be a bit of entertainment.

“What do you want, Isabela?” he asked, from across the fire.  He had Bethy in his arms, and Bethy was playing with the amulet around his neck.

“Do you want me to marry you?” Isabela called over.

“Not in the least,” Fenris said, scathingly.

“Not like that you dummy.  Do you want me to perform a marriage ceremony, so you and Hawke can finally get hitched?”  Hawke tried to hide her face further in her palms, but there was only so much of her that her hands could cover.

“Can you do such a thing?” Fenris asked, sounding interested.  Interested!  Hawke looked over at him quickly and he looked serious, too.

“’Course I can!  I’m a captain, I can marry people!”

“Isn’t that just on the sea, though?” Carver asked, coming back from seeing to the mule.

“The open road, the open sea.  Granted, the sea is nicer, but they’re close enough.  Listen, do you want me to marry you two or not?”

“Yes,” Fenris said, at the same time Hawke said “no.”  They shared a glance, and then Hawke shrugged and said, “Why not?”

“Excellent!” Isabela said, clapping her hands together.  She took a long drink from her bottle and then corked it and set it down, standing up quickly and dusting herself off.  “Now, you two stand here, in front of me…”  She directed Hawke and Fenris on where to stand; Carver took Bethy from Fenris, and they held hands.

Hawke felt like five kinds of fool for this, but…  She could go into Grunding and be honest when she told people that she and Fenris had been married by a sea captain.  That would save a lot of trouble; few of the men would proposition her, knowing she was Fenris’s wife.  And they could always do something else, later, perhaps a party…

“Now,” Isabela was saying, and Hawke couldn’t quite meet Fenris’s eyes.  “Fenris, do you promise to love and honor and cherish Hawke, through everything, and not turn her in to the templars (I added that for you, Hawke!) and not do anything to piss her off?”

Fenris chuckled and looked down, and it was his turn to not quite meet Hawke’s gaze for a moment.  He cleared his throat and looked up, and met Hawke’s eyes.  “I do.”

“And Hawke, do you promise to love and honor and cherish Fenris through everything, even during his most brooding of broody periods, and not do anything to piss him off?”

Hawke managed to not laugh, but she was smiling widely.  “I do,” she said, and her smile only grew when Fenris smiled back at her.

“Then by the power invested in me by… the Maker, I guess, whoever’s in charge… I now pronounce thees husband and wife.  Kiss the bride, man!” she said, nudging Fenris, and Fenris chuckled ruefully and stepped forward, slipping his hands around Hawke’s shoulders to pull her close.  Their lips met, and Hawke held onto his arms as she melted into the kiss.  It had, she realized, been nearly two weeks since they had actually kissed.  This one was well worth the wait, she thought, as her friends and family stood around her and clapped.

“Save some for the honeymoon, you two,” Carver said, and Hawke laughed as she broke away from Fenris, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

“Yay mama,” Bethy said, clapping chubby little hands, and Hawke leaned over and kissed Bethy, too.  Then she looked back at Fenris, and saw her own feelings reflected in his eyes: they were married, or close enough, now.  It may not have been a grand wedding, the “security nightmare of the year” that Aveline predicted, but it was enough to bind them together.  He squeezed her hands and she squeezed back, her smile growing wider for a moment.

“I guess you two will be wanting some privacy tonight,” Carver said, coughing slightly.  “I’ll keep the little tyke, if you like.”

“Thank you, Carver,” Hawke said, touched that he would think of such a thing.  That wasn’t like her immature little brother at all; perhaps the templars had taught him some maturity, after all.

“For now,” Isabela said, thrusting the brandy back at Hawke, “we have a little fun!”

* * *

_Two Months Later…_

_Dear Aveline,_

_It was good to hear from you again.  I’m glad that the recovery in Kirkwall is going more smoothly than expected.  I’m sure Seneschal Bran is having a field day, what with everything in such a mess (and that includes_ all _of it, not just our favorite parts!)  You didn’t mention, but how is Donnic?  I’m certain he’s just glad you came through okay._

_Things are going grand, here.  With spring finally here, officially, we’re starting on the little garden and we’ll be getting some chickens from the Huells, so that we won’t have to buy eggs anymore.  I was thinking of getting a milking cow as well, so that we could make our own cheese, but as none of us have actually made cheese before except myself, I haven’t decided on that matter.  I do not know if you remember the two cats I had adopted before, when we lived here, but they are still here!  They didn’t remember us, but have slowly warmed up to us and now they’re almost friendly as any cat I’ve ever heard of._

_(By the way, give Hero a hug for me; I miss him so, but I think he’s better off with you in Kirkwall than with me on the run.  I’m not sure how long we’ll have here.)_

_Merrill, especially, has been loving the little garden and the animals, and anything Merrill seems to like, Carver seems to like.  We managed to get him a regular supply of lyrium, too; I was worried about that for a bit, but the Sundry Shopkeep said he could get a regular supply for a templar with little difficulty.  It’s not exactly giving us a stockpile, but it’s enough, and the rest of us don’t need it like he does._

_Isabela has quickly grown bored of Grunding, like I expected her to, but she’s enjoyed making forays out and about, picking up information and just staying busy.  I’m not certain, but I don’t think she’s slept with anyone except Merrill and Carver since we got here, so you might have to revise your favorite name for her, Aveline!_

_I do not know what to do about Anders.  He mopes around the house and refuses to leave it, and the house is small enough as it is.  I know he does not appreciate having to share a room with Carver, but there just isn’t enough space to give him his own room, and he’s the one who asked to come along to begin with.  There is, admittedly, little enough to do for a Circle-trained mage in such a small house, and I told him he’s truly living how free men live, but he didn’t appreciate that.  I sometimes (often) wish he would just leave, but I will not kick him out.  He’s better off where I can keep an eye on him, and I might have reason to keep him around, soon._

_Fenris and Bethy have settled in quite nicely.  As crowded as the house is, you’d have thought that Bethy would be supervised at all times, but that has proven to not be the case.  She is a slippery thing, and has several times been found as far away as the town square with no supervision!  The other mothers in the town all say that such is normal for small children, and it means she is bright and adventurous, but even so, it’s worrisome, and I wish she would stop doing it._

_Most of the townfolk seem to accept me being married to Fenris with little more than muttered curses and dirty looks, but so far, nothing bad has come of it.  It’s been different, being married; even though we’re living the same as we did before, something about the words being said… I don’t know.  Maybe you understand what I’m saying, without me trying to bungle the words.  You’re married and were married before; it’s different, once the words are said.  More real._

_Speaking of things being more real, I look forward to giving you some more news in my next letter.  There is nothing confirmed, yet, but there’s the possibility I will want you to visit in a few months.  That’s all I’ll say for now, though!  I’ll leave it as a surprise._

_Write me back as soon as you’re able, and tell Varric and Donnic both hello for me._

_Your friend,_

_Hawke_

She blew on the ink gently, to let it dry, and once it had she folded the letter and sealed it with red sealing wax, then wrote Aveline’s name on the outside of it, then placed it on top of the letter for Varric.

Hawke stood up from her desk and looked at herself in the mirror.  No changes yet, but that was to be expected.  With a smile on her face, she opened the door to her room.

“Oh, Fenris?” she called out, into the other room.  “I’ve got something I need to discuss with you.”

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, folks. That's A Hawkeling Tale. Thank you for reading this far and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! The burning question is... will there be a sequel? I don't know, there's nothing planned as of yet but possibly in a few months...? Thank you all for the lovely comments and taking time to read my little novel.


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